Pawn
by Finding Tobias
Summary: Carmen is a Gamekeeper's daughter and she tries her best to avoid anything with the Hunger Games. However, after a series events she is led into the heart of the Games and the Rebellion.
1. Chapter 1

**Pawn**

I do not own the Hunger Games, or any characters except my own. The plot is mine. Steal my characters, plot, and actual story… I will hunt you down and cut you. This was posted before and I didn't like how it was written and so, I took it down and edited it.

**Chapter 1**

I am safe and warm in Graham's arms. For now, nothing can hurt me. I snuggle closer to him feeling his scent and rest my head on his shoulder. I know that this must come to an end, as it does every night and then I am thrust into a world of unknowns. _My name is Carmen Hyde. I am twenty-two years old, and I am a Capitol pawn._

There is a light shake on my shoulder and I open my eyes. Iris, an Avox and my only trusted friend, stands over me gesturing to the clock. Seven-thirty. We've overslept again. I shake Graham hurriedly and he groans. "We overslept. You know what will happen if my mother finds you here."

He chuckles. "I doubt my presence will bother her. Your mother was quite the whore back in the day."

"She still is," I mutter. We have this exchange everyday. Iris covers her mouth, but I know she's smiling. I pulled my nightgown over my head. Iris starts to help Graham collect his clothes, averting her eyes as he dresses. I make a note to give her something nice for her trouble, for warning me. She could easily turned Graham in. A nice handkerchief, a small vial of perfume, extra food. Avoxes aren't supposed to have these nice things. After all, they are criminals and enemies of the Capitol. Despite that, Iris is the closet thing I have to a friend here in the Capitol. I can't even trust my own mother.

Graham and I embrace. "Love you sweetheart," he whispers. "See you soon."

He closes the door behind him as he leaves. It's still semi-early. The only people out and about are the Avoxes, and who can they tell? Still, it's closer than I like. Graham has to get to work. He works for Central Defense.

"Thank you," I say to Iris as she begins her morning duties. She starts making my bed. I slip into the bathroom to take a shower. I am reluctant to shower, to wash Graham's scent off of me. I put my forearm to my nose and smell a trace of his spicy cologne and sex. I hate showering off his smell. I press a variety of buttons to start the shower and my transformation into a high profile member of Capitol. Gamemaker's Daughter.

When I get out is a warm towel waiting for me, possibly put there by Iris or my style team. The mirror is steamed up so I can not look at my unmade up self. I stand there for a moment savoring the heat before going back out into my air conditioned room. It is late June, and the heat was beginning to creep. Soon, we would be frying eggs on the sidewalk. I wrap my hair in a towel and pulled a robe around my slim body. As I open the door, the sound of the television came through the room.

_That's odd._ I think. Then it dawns on me. My stylist and prep team must have turned it on, but surely they would have knocked first. I walk around through the door that separates my actual bedroom to a small entertaining area. Graham was there, sitting on the couch holding a cup of coffee. Iris had left already. Breakfast waited on a tray, under a silver lid.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"I don't have to work today. Isn't that great?" He pats the cushion for me to come sit next to him. I sit and tuck my legs under me. My damp legs stick to the velvet cushions. He squeezes my knee.

"What's the occasion?" I worry he's been fired.

"Today's reaping day," He says simply. "The worst day of any kid's life, but then again you wouldn't know."

This hits me like a ton of bricks. He's right, I don't. I was born and raised with the silver spoon of the Capitol in my mouth. Graham was not.

"What was it like? The Reapings?" I ask cautiously.

He shrugs, his eyes glued to the screen, where they broadcast the highlights from previous Games. "It was terrifying because if you were selected, your life was basically over and you were sent to die." He hesitated. "But what's more is when you see those you know killed. I don't know which is more terrifying: being sent to die or seeing your loved ones killed."

I rest my hand on his shoulder. "Both would be hard."

"It's hard when you people you went to school and played with to the Capitol's source of entertainment. Do you want coffee?" Graham says abruptly.

"No thanks." I am rather shaken by Graham's words. I get up and go back to the bathroom and take the towel off my head. My dark hair hangs damply down my back. Everyone says I look like my mother, but I cannot see the resemblance.

Graham comes into the bathroom and wraps his arm around my torso. There's a terror in his blue eyes that I have never seen. "The worst part of reaping day is every time District 3 is shown; my mind goes back to those who were sent to die. Their families. Their empty seat at school. The fact that you have more food because they aren't there." His eyes well up with tears. "I hate the reaping. I hate the Hunger Games. If I could be a part of getting rid of it, I would."

A sharp knock at my door stops his tirade. I know that it is not my mother. Now, that I know it is the reaping day, my mother is with Seneca Crane, the head Gamemaker. The Hunger Games is one of her passions. Graham is safe for another day. It's my prep team and stylist. They come in talking excitedly as they carry the tools they make me to a proper Capitol citizen.

"I thought you were off today," I say as they bustle into my living room.

"Silly girl," My stylist Regan says, "Beauty never takes a day off."

"But it is the reaping day."

"Yes, but the first doesn't start until nine. Surely you want to go shopping and you can't go out looking like that." Regan held up a lock of my damp hair.

Graham snorts. "Carmen? Shopping? That will happen when President Snow dies."

The chatter falls silent. Graham has committed a serious crime by showing dissent to our president. He could have his tongue cut out.

To relieve the tension I ask, maybe too brightly as I shoot Graham a dark look. "Are you excited for the Hunger Games?"

"Oh don't you know!" Cordele, one of the prep team exclaimed. "I heard one of the up and coming stylists, Cinna, is coming into the Games. He's so visionary!

The Games might be a way of the Capitol for keeping the rest of us in line, but it's a time for the stylists to show off their skill. My stylist and prep team start talking at once.

Graham snorts in disgust. "My brother died for your entertainment, and all you can worry about what you look like when you go shopping, or what you're wearing. Try starving to death and entering your name multiple times to make sure you have food for your family for the year."

Regan is the first to speak. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize the Games hit so close to you, Graham."

He blinks back tears and I move to comfort him. I do not know how to, as a member of Capitol's society, I am directed by strict protocol. Emotions do not have a place here. My team is thrown as well. They start digging through the various items, chattering to change the subject.

Graham sighs and sits back on the couch watching the highlights of previous Games. His hands are clenched around his cup of coffee.

Regan gives me an apologetic look as she combs my limp brown hair. "Which Game?"

"Seventieth." He takes a sip of coffee. "He was fifteen, I was seventeen."

I have become numb to the idea of the Hunger Games and the cruelty of the Capitol to the numerous districts, but Graham has not. It is not so much human nature we fear here. Everyone stabs everyone else in the back. We fear emotions. Anything that breaks social protocol makes us shatter.

I only let my prep team do minimal amount of work on me, and by the time of the first reaping they are done. Nine has finally come. Twenty-three tributes face a certain death. Graham and I sit on the couch. His arm rest on my shoulders and he is toying with a piece of my curly hair. There will be two reapings this hour. A half an hour devoted to each District.

I am wearing a simple black dress that has a scoop neck and black flats. Graham is wearing clothes that he had previously stashed in my closet and somehow missed my stylist and prep team's eyes. Or they had chosen to ignore it.

"Are you excited to see what your mother has helped come up with these Games?"

"No," I say flatly.

"Are you at least curious?" Graham asks.

I hesitate. "She loves them more me."

"It's good to see that someone else has a chip on their shoulder about the Games," Graham says wryly.

I sigh and lean my head on his shoulder. I can think of better things Graham and I could be doing than watching the reaping, but as citizens of Pandem, it is our duty. Since we live in the Capitol, we watch them on television complete with commentary by Ceaser Flickman who turns a different color every year.

They are all the same. Frighten children held in roped off areas by age. When their names are called, they walk to the stage terrified.

When it is District 3's turn, I clutch Graham's hand that is around my shoulder. He gives me a small smile. Then we both watch. Calypso Mulder is that district's representative. She has pink skin and gold tattoos around her eyes. She has a green wig. "And the young lady representing District 3 is…" She fishes around in the ball with slips of paper. "Rosemary Montoro."

The camera pans to the pen to where the fourteen year olds are standing. They always move out of the tributes path. Rosemary's hair is pulled back in a severe braid. Green eyes stand out from her peaked face. Graham groans quietly and I squeeze his hand. "My mother used to watch her when I was younger. She used to like to make mud pies."

"That's not going to do her much good in the Arena," I say. I kiss the back of his hand.

"Unless you're from 1 or 2, you're shit out of luck," Graham chuckles. "That's why they have so many victors. They train the hell out their kids."

Now it's the boy's turn. Roswell Murkus's name is called. Fourrteen. He is a small boy. He is skinny and dark circles are branded underneath his eyes. There is a smear of dirt on his white shirt. Graham emits another sigh. "I used to play with his older brother. They were worse off than us. They'd come to school dirty and hungry." He shakes his head. "Every year I get a reminder of where I come from and what I left behind."

"It can't be all bad," I say.

He shrugs. "No, I guess not."

"You have me."

"A Gamemaker's daughter who has a mother that hates me for no apparent reason." He tickles me.

"She doesn't like the fact that you weren't born in the Capitol." I try twisting away from him but he only holds on tighter.

"I'm not 'pure' stock. Which bastard is she trying to set you up with now?"

"Some guy name Sven Postimus."

"Sounds like a complete dick," Graham says.

"Have you met him?"

"Nope. I've never heard of him."

"You don't have to worry," I say. I stroke his spiked blond hair. "I won't leave you for him."

He smiles and kisses my forehead. "I'm not worried."

We settle back onto the couch to watch District 4's reaping. One of the victors, Finnick Odair had been a guest of my mother's a few times. He was a handsome and charming man who never missed an opportunity to make me blush. I would probably see him again in the next few weeks as the mentors mingled with the Capitol's high society to try to secure sponsors for their tributes.

"Are you going to any of the parties tonight?" Graham asks, jolting me out of my thoughts.

"The one held for the Gamemakers. You want to go?"

Graham snorts. "Would your mother let me go, is the question."

"She will listen to me," I answer. "She won't let herself be embarrassed by her own daughter. And besides, you work in the Defense. You might be useful to them. I've heard Seneca Crane isn't Capitol born and bred, but he's doing great things."

Even if she does let him accompany me, there will be some sort of string attached. There always is.

"I wouldn't put designing an arena that kills children for sport high on my list of accomplishments," Graham says.

"It keeps the Districts in line," I say.

"We're all starving to death, it's not like we have the energy to revolt. Most of our time is spent working our hands to the bone so people like you can live in luxury."

People like me. I decide not to fight with him about my upbringing. People from the districts were portrayed by the government as stupid individuals who could do nothing more than work. They were useless and criminals. They had no feelings or manners and we in the Capitol were better off.

We sit and watch the remaining reaping in silence. I know Graham is upset. When people are upset in the Capitol, the solution is always a gift. Gifts will not help in this situation. The reapings have become boring. It is the same thing over and over again. Frighten children move to the stage as their names are called. "Do you want to go for a walk?"

"And miss all the action?"

My stomach growls. In all the excitement, I forgot to eat. It seems to be a growing trend. At least today, I'm hungry. Graham checks his watch. "It's past lunchtime. I guess we should go and face the world."

By the world, he means the Avoxes that keep my house running smoothly. The could care less about our comings and goings. As we walk out of my room, I hear the echoing announcement of the tributes' names being called. It doesn't matter where we decide to go, we will see the news any way. Graham takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen. As we get closer, I can smell lamb stew with plums cooking.

We seat ourselves at the bar which faces towards the stove. There, there is out head house chef Tomick chopping an onion hurriedly and bark orders at two Avoxes who are helping him. He must be helping prepare Seneca Crane's chef with the preparations for tonight's dinner. A black haired male Avox sees us and dishes a plate of stew. I mentally thank him since it is against the law for me to acknowledge his presence. After all, he is a traitor to the Capitol and we showed him mercy by not killing him straight out.

Graham digs eagerly into his lamb stew. Finally, District 12, the last district is shown on the screen. Tomick stops what he is doing and wipes the sweat off his brow. The District is looks worn and dirty. A black grime covers everything including the camera. It pans across the children, who look the same from all of the districts, hungry and frightened.

Then it pans to District 12's only still-living victor who teeters unsteadily onto the stage during the last words of the mayor. The bottom of the screen reads Haymich Abermarthy. 56th Hunger Game Victor. His blond hair, which comes to the tops of his collar is greasy and matted. Vomit stains his blue dress shirt. He is screaming obscenities at the camera which is rewarded by applause. He stops his drunken rage confused. The escort, Effie Trinket's smile falters when he wraps his arms around her and squeezes her in a big hug. Caught off guard, she tries to escape in a way that reminds me of a cat that has been caught by a too-lovable child.

Two Peacekeepers manage to pry his arms off of her and help him back to his seat. Graham snickers beside me. "I feel sorry for those kids."

Effie's pink hair looks off center. All most too cheerfully, she says. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor."

"Someone may have slipped something in her juice for her to be that happy," Graham says.

"I wouldn't want her job." Tomick says as he refills both of our bowls. "It…"

An injured cry pulls all of our attentions to the television screen. "Prim!"

A girl several years older than Prim is rushing towards the stage. "Prim! I volunteer!" She gasps. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Goosebumps crawl up my arms. Graham almost drops his stew in his lap.

The Gamemakers would be shocked and pleased. The stakes have been raised.

**A/n: Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I own do not own _The Hunger Games_. However, this story's plot and the original characters are mine. If you take them or plagiarize my story in anyway, I will come after you.

"Prim, let go," The older girl says harshly. She struggles to keep her face free of emotion.

A boy helps her up on the stage. Her knees buckle and the boy has to support her. He mouths something to her and she nods. Then she resets her resolve. The cameras zoom in on her face. She keeps it free of emotion, but anyone with half a brain can see the pain in her eyes. Her hands shake.

"Well, bravo! That's the spirit of the Games!" Effie Trinket gushes in her high pitched voice as if Katniss were a dog and preformed a trick. "What's your name?"

"Katniss Everdeen." Her voice is strong and clear.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister!" Her eyes widen and she bats her eyes. Her voice is sweet and syrupy. It makes me ill.

"Oh, come on." Graham groans. "She's going to die, at least give her some respect."

"Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" She cries flinging her arm up in the air. Her green suit jacket flies open. Her motions remind me of a praying mantis. The crowd in front of her does not move or respond to her command, but sits there oddly silent. The camera pans across the crowd. Their faces mirror Katniss's. Nothing. Somewhere off in the distance a dog backs. Effie looks awkward and she opens her mouth to say something.

This is when Haymitch seems to wake out of his drunken stupor. "Look at her. Look at this one!" He throws an arm around her. Unlike Effie, he does not resist. "I like her! Lots of… spunk!" His features harden. "More than you!" He shouts as he moves towards the camera "More than you, you bunch of cowardly b—." There is no need for the network to censor him; he does it himself by falling off the stage. The crowd gasps and medics rush over to his aid. Yet, no one laughs.

"I think my faith in humanity is restored," Graham says. "If not by Katniss, then by Haymitch."

"He is oddly endearing," I admit. "In a drunken, scruffy kind of way."

The camera cut away from Haymitch's spill and back to Effie, who had turned white behind her well made up face. She cast a sideways glance at where Haymitch previously stood. The part of her wig lays dangerously to the right. She forces a smile and says brightly to the crowd. "What an exciting day!"

"I think District 12 may have just single-handedly managed be a laughingstock, redeem itself and then become a laughingstock again," Graham said.

"I wouldn't underestimate the people of District 12," Tomick said quietly. "Haymitch Abernathy is no fool."

"If Haymitch Abernathy was not a fool then he has certainly become one." My mother, the great Vivian Hyde strode into the kitchen. Her red heels click on the marble floor in an authoritative manner. "What a disgrace and waste of a victor. If I were on the Gamemaker's Council, that man would have been punished harsher. He got off easy in my opinion."

I keep my eyes downcast into my stew and smash a few of the plums to try to make more broth. Graham's hand rests protectively on my knee. It's reassuring. With my mother's interruption we have missed the drawing for the male tribute for District 12.

"The stew is wonderful, Ms. Hyde," Graham says. He gives my knee a squeeze and then he looks at his watch. "I must be going. I must decide what I'm wearing to the party tonight."

"Oh?" My mother asks. "Which party are you going to?"

After the reaping there are always lots of parties, in Spirit of the Games. Really, it's just an excuse to drink and compare fashions. It's President Snow's orders. There, we take bets and try to guess what the Gamemakers have come up for this year's Games. My job is to see that they live up to their expectation.

"Well," I say hesitantly. "I'd like him to be my date to Seneca Crane's party. There will hardly be anyone my age there."

"But what will here wear? Does Graham have something to wear on such a short notice? All of the shops are closed today." Her voice is cool, calculating.

"I'm sure something can be arranged." I hear myself say, matching her tone. "I'm sure my stylist and prep team can think of something. It makes it easy that he's male and doesn't take as much to look beautiful. Isn't it time I stepped out with a suitor?"

She studies me, calculating how much damage she can inflict.

I keep going. "Besides, two pairs of ears are better than one. With the information we are able to gather, we can make this the best Games ever."

She is pleased. "I had hoped that you would step out into society with a suitor that was more… suitable and with a better breeding but given the situation Graham will have to do."

Right. Breeding and how much wealth and junk you've accumulated means everything.

"I will call Regan and see what she has available at her disposal. I expect Graham to be on his best behavior." She does not address him directly, only me. She has decided to ignore his presence completely. _If anything goes wrong,_ _you will pay._

Graham squeezes my knee again under the bar. I go back to eating my stew. It has gotten cold and the previous serving has turned into a lump in my stomach.

"Watch how much you eat, beautiful girls aren't fat," My mother says offhandedly. "You want to fit in your dress tonight."

Of course, we must keep up appearances. My mother was, and probably still is, considered to be one of the most eligible women in the Capitol. Even after she married my father, she still attracted men. My father was a fellow Gamemaker first and now a trusted advisor to President Snow. I don't see him much, my father. I hardly know who he is.

"Yes Mother," I answer.

"Your father will be there too along with President Snow. You better not embarrass me."

"Yes Mother." I keep my eyes downcast.

"We'll be the best dressed and best behaved couple there," Graham adds. "You'll hardly be able to tell my District blood."

"It's not about appearances, Graham," She says sweetly, puckering neon red lips together. "You see, it's about smell. A true Capitol citizen will be able to tell the difference between a real Capitol gem like my daughter and a commoner like you."

Graham bites his lips. He struggles not to take my mother's bait. Simply he says, "The people from the Capitol have to come from somewhere. If there weren't new blood from the districts then we would have a more stunted gene pool than we have already."

My mother ignores him and instead turns to Tomick. She gives him a few instructions of things not to forget. For instance, President Snow is allergic to anything citrus. "I need all of those foods labeled. If he becomes ill, it'll be your head."

"Yes, ma'am," Tomick replies.

Briefly, I wonder if anyone has ever tried that, and quickly push it out of my mind. My father told me in one of our rare conversations that President Snow has eyes everywhere. That's the reason he's been able to survive thirty years in office. Personally, I don't like our President. When you look in his eyes, you see evil residing there. And he reeks like a funeral parlor filled with rotting flowers. I hope Graham hasn't gotten any ideas. Both my mother and father have made it clear to me that I am not to challenge anyone here in the Capitol, as I have seen many of my parents' friends die.

"So do you think Caesar Flickerman will look like an Oompa Loompa this year?" Graham asks interrupting my thoughts.

Last year the host had a terrible tan that turned his skin orange and his lips were painted a garish red. The colors didn't complement him at all, reminding of us from an Oompa Loompa from the movie _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_.

One of the few things I know about my father besides being a government official is that he loved things from the Old Times. Before Pandem was formed, there was another country in its place. That country had what they called movies. They were recorded on discs which you popped into the player. Then the movie played on the screen. My father was a collector and had hundreds. When he was I was about six or seven we would watch them together. He had given my permission to watch them anytime I'd like, though when my mother found out, she put a stop to it. "It's not what Capitol ladies do." She said. "Those things are in the past for a reason."

"I hope not for his sake," I say.

Graham checks his watch. "I guess I should go and see if I can find something worth wearing for tonight. What color is your dress?"

"Red."

He closes his eyes and leans his head back, "Mmmm… Red like roses, the love our dear president, who has the personality off..

"Not funny. If you're not careful, you could get your tongue cut out." I scold. "He prefers white roses."

He catches my cheek and kisses it. "Calm down. What time do I need back here?"

"Five. No later. The party starts at seven."

"Yes, ma'am." He kisses me again and disappears out of the door, leaving me with Tomick and the two Avoxes.

"Who do you think is going to win these Games and how?" If I have to be my mother's spy, I need to practice.

Tomick shrugs. "I think this year's Games will be unlike anything we've ever seen. And while I respect the Gamemakers like your mother, I doubt this will be out of their control. Though we'll know more when the tributes' training scores and interviews come in."

I thank him and then go back to my room to start the process of getting ready. Depending on what my stylists have picked out, it may or may not take that long. A part of me wonders if it was a mistake to invite Graham, but on the other hand, I would be wandering around high society making odd conversation with odd people who have had too much to drink.

My mother would forcefully suggest that I dance with the sons of other famous Capitol citizen. They would step on my toes. Last year, Demetrius Reza almost puked down the front of my dress. I've been disillusioned by the Capitol and it's citizens.


	3. Chapter 3

**Pawn**

As previously stated, I do not own the Hunger Games.

**Chapter 3**

Four hours later after having the blemishes and flaws scrubbed out and being stuffed in a tight bodice, I live up to Capitol's beauty standards. Graham is late and I am annoyed. I stand in the middle of the room as my prep team and stylists fuss with my dress and my hair. The hem is a little to long. The shoes that my mother had planned for me to wear, the heel broke. It was one drama after the other and I was ready to be done with it!

Remy spays another layer of hair spray over my hairdo to make sure it would stay. I'm sure if I was in the Arena and being chased it by a nest of trackerjackers, nothing would move. The fumes make me cough. This is then followed by some sort of glitter spray to make me shine.

Finally, after much fussing, they stand back admiring their handy-work.

"There," Regan says, "You're ready!" She ushers me to a full-length mirror. I don't recognize the young woman in the mirror. I am less concerned about my appearance and more about Graham. "Where is he?"

"He'll be here," Regan reassures me. "Do you like it?"

The dress is one of Regan's designs. It is a strapless red dress with a tight bodice. A simple beaded design on the front. The layered skirt hung close to my body. They had decided to allow my hair to be loose waves down my back. A few pieces were pinned back in a rhinestone barrette that matches the complex rhinestone necklace and dangling earrings. White elbow gloves complement my dress. My make up is simple yet effective. "Less is more," Regan had said. A spritz of perfume and I am ready to take on the Capitol.

"You'll certainly turn some heads in that dress." She crosses her arms in front of her. The glue that holds my gloves in place itches.

"Graham still isn't here." I want to murder him. The one time he has a chance to impress my family, he manages to screw it up. "I specifically told him to come at five in case he needed style help because you know how my mother is about appearances."

Regan ushers me out of my room to meet the rest of my family in the living room. As I descend the staircase, Graham waits for me at the bottom. He wears a black tux and red bow tie. "Hey there, gorgeous."

"You're late."

"I was waiting here the entire time. Just ask your grandmother."

I freeze. "How did that go?"

"I like them. They weren't what I was expecting. I have something for you." He says. He takes my hand and leads me the rest of the way down. "Close your eyes and hold out your right hand, palm down."

I frown. "But then whatever you put in my hand will fall onto the ground."

He chuckles, "Just close your eyes will you, and no peeking!"

Packaging rustles and there is whispering. I don't like surprises. Something slips over my hand and rests daintily on my wrist. "If you want to really know, I was a few minutes late because I was picking up this."

"I guess I can forgive you for that. Can I open my eyes now?"

He takes my hands and squeezes them. "Okay, open them."

On my wrist rests a corsage of red two red roses intertwined with a spray of tiny white flowers. "It's beautiful," I gasp.

"It was your grandmother's idea," Graham said. "Apparently it used to be a tradition back in the Old Times."

Sometimes I think my father's side has been born in the wrong time period.

"Way before the Dark War started, years and years ago when a young lady went out to a fancy party, the young lady would receive a corsage from her date. She would give him a boutonnière." She pulls a smaller box behind her. Inside the plastic casing is a single red rose with a spray of small white flowers. "You pin it on his lapel."

She unpins the flower from the box and hands it to me. The pin is long and sharp, like a trackerjacker stinger. "I'm afraid I'll stab him."

"Please don't stab me with that," Graham asks.

My grandmother, the 14th Hunger Games victor came and gave me a big hug. She is wearing a peach colored dress and hat. "You look so beautiful. I wish your father were here to see you."

"He'll be meeting us there, right?" I asked.

"I'm afraid not. They've sent him out of town, investigating some rebel activity."

It figures. "This always happens. It's not fair. Maybe I should write a letter to President Snow."

My grandmother takes both things with me and expertly pins it on Graham's coat. "See, that was easy." Sometimes I wish my grandmother was really my mother. "Sometimes being apart of the government isn't fair. Even though you aren't a little girl any more, you should have a right to see your father."

"Maybe I will ask President Snow tonight if I see him."

"That's a really bad idea," Graham cut in.

This is time my mother comes sweeping down the stairs with her stylist, prep team and assistant close behind her. "We're going to be late." As she spoke, lights pulled into our driveway. "That's the limo."

Graham helps me into my coat. I took Graham's arm and the four of us walked out into the balmy night. A portly man opened the door to the back of the limo and helped us slide into the spacious backseat. We ride in silence. My grandmother did not like my mother, and the feeling was mutual.

"It was not necessary for you to come to this party," My mother says to my grandmother.

"It was no trouble," she replied, "As a former victor it is my duty. I can still teach these Gamemakers a thing or two. And I know that Hugo would have wanted to be here."

Graham and I exchange uncomfortable glances. Finally, the short ride ends. We only live a few miles from Crane, but to not arrive in style would be considered a faux pas. If you have it, you flaunt it here. The Capitol and rest of the districts are encouraged to celebrate the Games. I think back to Primrose and Katniss Everdeen. Neither of them is celebrating tonight.

I am the only child of Hugo and Vivian Hyde. I imagine what it is like to have a sibling and then have them ripped away from you by the government. I try to think how Graham felt and how Primrose Everdeen is feeling, and it scares me that I have no idea. I can't imagine having that much love for someone. Obviously, at the age of twenty, I am too old to participate in the Games.

The car stops and we get out. There is a steady stream of people going into Seneca Crane's mansion. They are decked out in the Capitol's latest fashions. Lime green sequins seem to be in this season.

Grandmother senses my uneasiness because I am not decked in sequins or wearing wild makeup. She takes my arm. "Your dress is a classic."

A man greets and embraces my mother warmly. He is wearing a well-fitted suit with a red shirt underneath his jacket. The edges of his beard were sculpted so they looked like flames of fire. He greets my grandmother next. "Jettie, it is a pleasure as usual."

"Thank you, it's a shame that Hugo can't be here. Your house looks lovely."

"Well, the Capitol's safety comes first. Can I get you a glass of wine?"

"That would be lovely. Thank you Seneca."

He moves to me, taking my gloved hand and kiss it. "What a beautiful corsage!"

"Thank you," I say. He shakes Graham's hand.

"Would you like some wine as well?"

I hesitate. My mother is nowhere to be seen. "That would be lovely," I say.

Seneca Crane leaves and Graham and I are standing awkwardly in the middle of the foyer. High profile celebrities are mingling in the foyer. A few moments later Crane comes back with two goblets of wine. "I must attend to my arriving guests, but please, make yourselves comfortable. There is tons of food."

We thank him and he disappears within the crowd. I take a sip of the wine. It is sweet and tangy. "I wonder where this was made."

"District 11," Graham said. "That district is agriculture. They also make beer and wine from the fruit and wheat. They're famous for their fruit brandies and ciders. I wouldn't be surprised if more than half of the booze here is from District 11. Do you want something from the buffet?"

"No," I say. "You can go. I'll go later. I can hardly breathe in this dress; I doubt I will be able to eat."

He kisses my forehead and then disappears from site. I look around, there are a few people that I recognize. Plutarch Heavensbee even though it is still early in the evening, seems to already have had a few. "Carmen," he says warmly, putting his hand on my shoulder. "You've grown so much since last year. You look so lovely. This style is a classic look, truly."

"Thank you."

"That young man you came with, are you two an item?"

I blush. "We're good friends." This seems like a good, safe answer. When a relationship becomes public in the Capitol, it becomes complicated. I don't like complicated. My life is already complicated because of who my mother is. My mother is the Capitol's doll, not just because of who my father is. She's been in Capitol's society before her post as Gamemaker. One shouldn't fear their own family, but I fear my mother because I know what she can do. She can kill children without blinking an eye, I don't know what games she can play with me. In the Capitol, the philosophy is trust no one.

"Would you like to dance?" The portly man said. Somewhere, someone has started a waltz. I set my drink on a nearby table. Plutarch begins to talk about what a pleasure it has been to work with my mother. "She's very brilliant, you know." I suppress a sigh and wonder how long this dance will last.

A hand taps Plutarch on his shoulder. I hope its Graham. "Excuse me; I'd like to cut in."

Plutarch is surprised. "Of course."

"Sorry, sorry," The mysterious man mumbles. "These crowds… I never know what to do with them. It's so awkward you know?"

Plutarch squeezes my shoulder and leaves me after he catches sight of a blond in a scanty yellow dress with a large matching bow in her hair. I look around for Graham, but I don't see him. The crowd has swelled quite a bit. Peacekeepers wearing earpieces seem line the room's perimeter. I pray that Graham hasn't done anything dumb.

He clears his throat and he puts his arm around my waist. "Plus… half of these people you can't even stand. It amazes me why people waste their time playing nicey-nicey with people they're only going to backstab later." His face is painted a garish white with black circles around his eyes. Jagged scars protrude from both sides of his mouth. He licks his lips. "Capitol social circles are… kind of like the Hunger Games… either you go with the nicey-nicey or you're someone's snacky-snacky."

"Sorry to be rude, but have we met?"

My dance partner lets out a maniacal laugh. "No, I don't suppose we have. Though technically you should."

"I meet a lot of people, so it's possible we've met and I don't remember. I'm Carmen Hyde," I say.

"Everyone knows who you are, sweetheart." He licks his lips, but seems to have trouble swallowing. "Though…it seems they forget who the victors as soon as the Games are over. It only comes back in to focus…when there's new blood to spill."

"Weren't you involved with the Games at some point?"

He lets out another maniacal laugh. "Very good. Though… if you want to survive in this crowd… you'll have to be… a little bit faster."

"I'm seeing someone."

"We're just friends," he mimics my answer to Plutarch. It makes my skin crawl. "I have a hard time believing… that the Vivian Hyde's daughter brought 'just a friend' to an important party like this unless she had an agenda."

"I'm not like my mother." I try to pull away from him.

He holds fast. "I didn't imply that you were… just… you seem to have something to prove… Pick me… I can help you."

"I have nothing to prove," I say.

"Of course you do… Otherwise why would you have brought him?" He nods to Graham who has eyes glued on us. He licks his lips. "You want nothing more to prove that your nothing like them…Well… this was fun. I should let you get back to your date." He leads me back to Graham.

Graham's eyes widen in surprise as Dimitri escorts me to where he stands. "Thank you… for a lovely dance." He flicks his wrist and a small card appears. "My card." I take it, he turns slowly and then disappeared into the crowd.

"What was that?" Graham asked.

"I wonder how he got those scars, and why the Capitol didn't fix them after the Games?"

"What?"

I take Graham's wine and drain the rest of the glass.

"Hey, easy there. You're going to be sick later."

There seems to be even more people here than before. More people are dancing and their laughter seems deafening. I look at the card in my hand. There is the gold Seal of Pandem followed his name in bold letters:

**Dimitri Kral**

**66th Hunger Games Victor**

**GAMEMAKER**

**A/n:** Happy New Year! I hope you enjoyed it. Also, thank you to all of you who have reviewed. I hope more people will. I don't bite, unless you're into that sort of thing. ;)

Copyright 2012 Finding Tobias


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own the Hunger Games, just this story and the original characters in it.**

**Chapter 4**

"Who was that guy?" Graham asks. "You're shaking like a leaf, what the hell happened during that dance?"

I show him Dimitri's card, and his eyes widen and he almost chokes on the food he's chewing. "Holy shit, I remember him. He's the one who went absolutely crazy after the Games. I heard they had him committed to the mental asylum for homicidal urges."

"If they had to commit him because he's crazy, why is he a Gamemaker?" I show him the small rectangular piece of paper in my hand and then back at that swarm of people. Dimitri Kral is gone, lost in the crowd. I am suddenly very cold. I feel like the warmth has been sucked out of me. Graham drapes his coat over my shoulders. "Who knows what goes through the minds of the people in the Capitol. You'll feel better after you eat something." He puts his arm around my waist and leads me to the buffet. There is an entire table dedicated to each course. Overall, Crane must be offering a twelve course meal. Off to the side of the table holding the main courses, small vials that allow them to vomit whatever they have previously eaten and allowing them to stuff themselves like gluttons. My grandmother told me: "True ladies never use that stuff."

I take sip of the drink Graham took from the Avox. Fruit Brandy. It burns my throat and makes my eyes water. I want nothing more than to leave and process what happened with Dimitri. I take his card out of Graham's breast pocket and slip it into his side pocket.

"I'd like to make a few announcements before we officially get this party underway," Seneca Crane's voice boomed over a speaker. "If we could come to the dance floor." I went back into the room I had previously been in. Crane was standing in front of a podium. President Snow was seated beside him.

He raised his glass, "First of all, I'd like to wish you all, Happy Hunger Games! With this year's tributes, it'll be the best Games in the history of the Games." His statement was followed by a round of applause. Crane holds up his hands and it stops. "I'd like thank the Gamemakers who put together this year's game. If they don't mind, I'd like them to come forward."

Seven people came forward, my mother and Dimitri included. My mother looks ravishing in her emerald green dress. Dimitri has striking red hair that was pulled in a bun. He looks at me. Graham wraps a protective arm around me. A cruel smile forms on his lips. I stare back at him until he looks away.

Crane begins to speak, but my mother holds up her hand. She motions him to stop and give her her the microphone, which he obliges. "Hello, my name is Vivian Hyde and I have been a Gamemaker for the last ten years. Now, I think it is time to pass that torch on to someone else." A gasp went up from the crowd. "I'd like to nominate my daughter, Carmen Hyde for the position of Gamemaker in the 74th Hunger Games."

Someone rips Graham's coat off me and shoves me to the front of the room. I catch sight of Graham's face and his reaction is that of complete horror. So is my grandmother's. My grandmother is not in my mother's cruel joke. This is what it is. A spotlight shines on me. I plaster on a smile and force my feet to move one foot in front of the other towards Seneca Crane and my mother. Inside, I am terrified. I am now one of _them_.

My mother gives me a hug, digging her nails into my lower back. I'm sure she's left a mark "Don't shame me," she whispers through her smiling clenched teeth. The other seven Gamemakers shake my hand. I feel sick and I will myself not to vomit in front in all of these people.

Seneca Crane has the mike back. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

The crowd gasps.

President Snow has come down from his spot on the stage. He takes the mike from Crane. "You know that you are the youngest Gamemaker on record. How does that make you feel?"

I am suddenly aware that there are cameras and this is probably being broadcasted to the Capitol and the surrounding districts. "I'm shocked at this…" I search for the words "honor that my mother, the great Vivian Hyde has given me."

I do not like the way he looks at me. His eyes bore into me, mentally undressing me. I've heard things about Snow. He flashes me his trademark smile. That's when I see that the inside of his mouth is the color of fresh blood. "What a beautiful dress, a true classic. "

My mother smiles, but her eyes are cold. I try to keep the smile on my face as the people cheer. Seneca Crane takes the microphone and makes a few more announcements about not drinking and driving.

"Well, well, well, this is a surprise," Plutarch says heartily. He squeezes my shoulder. "I'd never thought I'd see the day Vivian gave up her place. You have big shoes to fill."

Tears well up in my eyes. "I'm so…. Happy," I stammer. The words fall out of my mouth I do not know where they come from, but I do not how to stop them. I wipe my tears "This is what I've always wanted."

This is my mother's way of forcing me into Capitol life, and away from Graham. I don't understand why, the Games are what she lives for. She told me once that the districts were parasites and used up resources that were needed in the Capitol. And the Hunger Games were punishment for their existence. I believed her for a while, and then I went to school. Most people of the Capitol share this sentiment, but occasionally you find some that don't. My second grade teacher was appalled after I had blurted this out in class. She explained that the people who lived in the districts were just like us and were far from useless. My mother was called and I was sent home. I wasn't punished, but a few days after that incident, my teacher disappeared. The Capitol does a good job of exterminating people who support humane treatment of these people who make our life of luxury possible.

I am engulfed by the other eight Gamemakers and President Snow as they offer me congratulations on my good fortune. Dmitri shakes my hand quickly, then disappears. I look for Graham but he has disappeared in the crowd.

"It so lovely to finally meet Vivian Hyde's daughter," A women squeals, "You've probably never heard of me. Vivian was not one to take her work home with her." She has white hair and shocking blue eye makeup. Her breasts look like they've been surgically altered. "My name is Contessa Lister."

I instantly dislike her. She seems fake.

"Don't forget," Crane says as we're getting ready to disperse back in to our respective circles. "There's a meeting at ten-thirty tomorrow morning."

Everyone grumbles that they will be hungover the next morning, but like for everything else, there is a pill for that.

A/n: I admit, this chapter is rather boring. I apologize. I have things planned. Thank you to those have reviewed. Please read and review!


	5. Chapter 5

I do not own _The Hunger Games_, but the plot of the story and original characters are mine.

**Chapter 5**

Dimitri stops suddenly in front of me, which makes me slam into the back in his back. "We can't go out that way," he says. "The press is out there. We'll have to go out the back."

"I don't understand, I say." He catches my arm and turns me around.

"Trust me, you don't want them to see us leave together. They'll… assume things," He says. "And that nice guy you came with won't understand."

Suddenly, it dawns on me what he's implying. I don't want to be associated with someone like him. "Maybe I should find Graham and tell him that I'm leaving and he can walk me home."

"No, no, no, we need to get you out of here as soon as possible. People… will start asking you questions that you don't know the answers to, and we don't want to misinform the public now do we?"

"I don't know anything," I struggle to keep up with him. It's hard semi-running in heels. "I didn't even know I was nominated."

"That's both a blessing and a problem." We weave through the party goers. He seems to have something against straight lines. Suddenly he stops by a buffet table and puts a few things on two plates and hands one to me. Grape leaves. I soon see why. A swarm of camera men and Caesar Flickerman come through filming the guests. I duck behind a large lady who is wearing a neon pink dress that is not flattering on her buxom figure. Dimitri pretends to fiddle with the buffet table.

"Did you?" I ask.

"Shut up and just eat," he growls. I take a bite of the grape leaves and realize that I am actually hungry. I finish what's on my plate. Dimitri puts a few more things on my plate. Graham walks by; he's holding the arm of another girl. He looks absolutely wasted. He leans over fondles her breast.

"I hope you didn't like him to much," Dimitri says.

"That creep," I mutter. "He's cheating on me." I start to march out there to give him a piece of my mind, but Dimitri catches the back of my dress, "Not worth it," he mutters "unless you want the press swarming you and filming a public feud."

"Not particularly," I say. "So what's the plan?"

"We stick close to the food. I've found that Capitol people hate to be filmed eating. It seems too human to them." He stops and looks behind him. "Also, if you're skirting the perimeter of the room, you're less likely to be noticed. Okay, next table. I 'll go first and then after a minute a so, follow me."

We move from table to table, no one seems to notice us. Everything seems to go smoothly until someone taps my shoulder. I turn around quickly, partly expecting another Gamemaker. Instead it's Emily, one of my classmates from college. "You disappeared so quickly I didn't have time to congratulate you."

"Sorry, I felt faint after they told me. I needed to get some air."

"If you feel faint, it's probably a good idea not to wear your wrap."

I laugh uncomfortably. "I was trying to find my mother to tell her I was leaving. I'm not feeling well. Too much excitement."

"I understand completely. Mommy always throws big parties like this, and even though I've been going to them all my life, they still always make me nervous. Drinking makes it worse. I suffer from anxiety, you know."

"No, I didn't," I say.

"You're eating so that's good. Hunger can also trigger anxiety."

"I am feeling calmer." I say. My system seems to be recovering from the shock. Dimitri is glaring at me from the next table over.

"Do you need a ride home? I can go find Daddy and borrow the car. I haven't been drinking," Caroline says. "It's a pity you're feeling anxious on such a big night. I wish I could do more to help."

"Thank you, one of the Gamemakers offered to take me home. Dimitri. He's trying to sober up." Dimitri saunters back to our table. He is drinking a glass of water.

"Do you want me to come with you?" she asks.

"What?"

"To your house. You can drive me back to my house tomorrow morning." She leans in closer. "I'll look less suspicious than you leaving with a Gamemaker. I can say you were ill in the bathroom and he just happened to be there when we were coming out. If we're caught by the cameras it won't look like you're cheating on Graham. I saw you and Dimitri dancing together earlier."

"Graham's already cheating on me." I whisper back. I didn't know her well. I'd only worked with her once or twice for a group project. She is the daughter of one of the more well-known senators in the Capitol, and Plutarch's niece. She was very nice, but smart. When asked about her father's politics, she seemed to avoid the questions.

"I hate to break up this lovely conversation…"

"His loss." She splashes water on my face and neck to make it look like I am sweating. Then she puts my arm around her neck and we make an easy exit. Only a few people turn at our exit. Dimitri follows some ways behind. Once we are out of the large dining room, there seems to be less people. We are able to escape out a side entrance.

"Thanks for you help," Dimitri says, "I can get it from here."

"I'm not letting my friend go home with a complete stranger. I don't care if you are a Gamemaker." Emily takes my arm protectively. "It's girl code."

"My car only seats two people," He begins.

"We'll manage. Or we can take my car."

"I like her. She has spunk. I think you should keep her around," Dimitri says. He presses a button and unlocks his car.

"My uncle is Lupe Peace and my father is Mel Toliver, so you better not try anything."

"Don't worry; you're not worth the damage of pissing off a fellow Gamemaker and Senator." He pulls on the door handle. Instead of the normal car doors that swung outward, these went up.

"You should sit on the outside in case you get anxious." She clamors in to the car. I sat on her lap. Dimitri makes sure both of our dresses are inside before he closes the door.

"This is a really nice car," I say softly. I stroke the leather seats. Black fuzzy dice hang from the review mirror.

"It really is," she answered. "Daddy used to have one of these until Mommy made him give it up. She said too many women were paying attention to him. I didn't really like it though, it went too fast. I was afraid that he'd kill himself. He used to take me out for ice cream on Sundays. Mommy didn't like that either."

"My father's never around so my mother does whatever she wants," I say. I feel uncomfortable that she's telling me this about her family. I guess technically I don't have it that bad.

"Why doesn't your mother like that?" I ask.

Dimitri gets in and starts the car.

"She's not happy unless she's the center of attention. Me? The spotlight always scares me. I could be put on the spot like you were tonight, Carmen. I would have fainted."

"I didn't do that great of a job," I say. "I was on the verge of crying."

"You need to learn to control your emotions and keep a straight face," Dimitri says.

"You can't show weakness, otherwise, they'll eat you alive," Emily adds.

"Or they'll prod until they find a weakness, and then they'll break you. Do you wanna know how I got these scars?" He points to the scars that curve from the corners of his mouth. They are enhanced by the red lip liner.

I wait for him to tell me, but he doesn't. He just shifts the car in to drive and backs out of the driveway. It's a story that either of us probably don't want to know.

A/N: Thank you to all those who have reviewed. What do you think of it so far?


	6. Chapter 6

I do not own _The Hunger Games_, but the plot of the story and original characters are mine.

**Chapter 6**

My alarm goes off at seven-thirty. I turn it off and sit up in my bed and rub my eyes. Emily sleeps beside me, wearing a pair of borrowed pajamas. I have classes today, but I know that I won't be attending them. I am not longer Carmen Hyde, college student. I am now Carmen Hyde, Gamemaker. The idea makes me sick to my stomach.

There is a sharp knock at my door. My mother comes in my room, she seems happy and cheerful. She doesn't seem to mind my hasty exit from the party last night. "Today is going to be a very busy day as your new job as Gamemaker. Are you feeling better?"

I swing my legs over the side of the bed. "A little. Dimitri drove Emily and I home."

"He's such a nice young man; you know he's only twenty-five?"

"Really?" So you'd rather me be with a cracked up victor than Graham. I think I'm starting to see your plan here.

"Today's meeting will probably just be a run down of what is expected of you. You'll get to see your new place of course…"

"New place?" I interrupt.

"Well, yes, outside the arena. That's where I stayed all those years when I was a Gamemaker. Where did you think I stayed?" Her sudden honesty about the Games scares me. "You can decorate it however you want."

"Mother," I say patiently "Why did you do this?"

She sits down on the bed and takes my hand. "This is the best thing for you right now."

"Killing innocent children? Mother, are you out of your mind?"

Emily stirs beside me.

My mother's eyes harden, whatever kindness was there is now gone. She looks around and pulls me close. "I need you to trust me. Listen and do what they tell you. Keep your ears open."

"You want nothing more to prove that you're not like them…" Dimitri's words echo in my ears. "I can help you…pick me."

Her expression changes and she becomes cheerful again. "So, let's pick something out to for you to wear to the meeting." She goes into my closet and begins flicking through my clothes. "We need something professional."

"Mother, am I allowed to have visitors at this new… place?"

"Of course darling. It's not a prison. You can come and go as you like." She comes out of my closet holding a simple black skirt and a simple red shirt with a ruffle at the collar. "What do you think of this?"

I am speechless.

"It's nice, but it's not professional enough," Emily says.

"No?" she asks. "Maybe you should wear a pants suit instead. Then you'd look more put together. This is too casual." She goes back in the closet. I am afraid that she'll find Graham's clothes.

"Maybe we should talk about it over breakfast, unless you're busy," I say. This is of course, ridiculous. She is still in her pajamas and is wearing no make up.

"I'm never too busy for my daughter," She says brightly. "It's a shame you weren't feeling well, you missed Caesar Flickerman."

"Mother, are you feeling okay?" I put my hand to her forehead. _You are never this nice to me_, I think. You make a point not to spend time with me, instead leaving me in the care of my grandmother or Avoxes while you go on your sexcapades with members of high society.

"I'm fine. Let's go eat breakfast. Then we'll decide on what you're going to wear."

"I'll be there in a second."

"You need something professional, but sexy." Emily says once my mother has left. She gets out of bed and starts digging my closet.

"I don't think I could handle Dimitri Kral staring down my shirt." I sit back on my bed. "He creeps me out."

"He's not the one you need to worry about. He seems rather decent, actually. A little weird maybe, but he's a victor… and most of them are kind of weird." Her voice becomes more muffled as she moves deeper into my closet. "You need a suit skirt and jacket."

"I have black one," I say.

She shakes her head. "No, it'd be better if you had another color. Black is…. You're not going to a funeral. Go eat breakfast with your mom, I'll find something. I'm good with clothes."

I pull on a robe and go join my into the kitchen. Guilt overwhelms me about last night. "Mom," I ask. "Are you angry that I left the party early?"

"No, honey, though I wasn't pleased to deal with Graham after you left. He had too much to drink and he was hitting on Nadene Newkirk's daughter." This isn't the first time I've heard of Graham's skirt chasing ways.

"Well, I'm not going to have much time for him while I'm a Gamemaker," I say. I know that this she wants to hear. "I might as well break it off." I don't want to do this, but I know it'll probably be best.

She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "Whatever you think is best."

An Avox brings a stack of waffles and we begin breakfast. Conversation dies, and we eat in silence. My mother flicks on the television and we watch Caesar Flickerman recount the previous night's parties and celebrations.

"There was a huge celebration at Seneca Crane's mansion which our beloved President attended. Vivian Hyde attended with her daughter Carmen Hyde." There was a close up with me in my dress walking in with Graham. "What a beautiful dress! But that's not all! Carmen was named by Vivian as a Gamemaker." There is a close up of my reaction of complete shock followed by my shaky entrance to where the other Gamemakers are standing.

Caesar chuckled. "As you can see by her reaction, this is a complete surprise. There had been rumors since last years' game that Vivian planned to step down. Her replacement is her own daughter. Not much is known about Carmen as she tends to avoid the public eye but she is currently enrolled in Capitol University studying Music. She is an accomplished pianist. All eyes will be on her as she becomes a part of the Gamemaker's Council."

Next they show a clip of me exclaiming how happy I am to receive the honor of being a Gamemaker. From this angle, I look like a complete ditz. There is an interview with Contessa Lister. "I think Carmen will be an excellent addition to our Council. She has large shoes to fill, and little experience with the Hunger Games. She did not attend any previous Gamemaking session."

Caesar asks "Do you think that will be a problem?"

Contessa laughs. "Not all. Vivian brags about her daughter's creativity so I think she'll be a great fit."

"Will she have a mentor to help her get settled in?"

"Of course! Vivian and I were close friends. I definitely plan to take that beautiful girl under my wing and help her learn the ropes of being a Gamemaker! Our children used to play together, you know."

I don't like Contessa. I think she is pretentious. As far as I know, she doesn't have any children. One thing I guess I can be grateful to my mother for is that she kept her life with me and the Capitol and Hunger Games separate.

"Her lipstick is too blue," My grandmother complains as she walks into the kitchen. "It makes her look half dead."

"Have I ever met her children?" I ask.

"She doesn't have children, at least that I know of, and if she does, they're considerably older than you," My mother says. She rubs her temples. A list of the Gamemakers appears on the screen.

"Lovely," I say. I stab my waffle and take another bite. It tastes like cardboard. "Will I have a mentor like what's-her-face said?"

"I'm sure they'll have someone with you in the room on your first couple of shift at as Gamemaker, at least for the few days. I don't know if they'll allow you to pick or not." My mother says. "I shall call Seneca and ask."

The phone rings distracting my mother. My grandmother waits until my mother leaves the kitchen before she sits down and helps herself to a waffle and fruit. "There's something you should know about these people; they will try to bribe you allow them to mentor you."

"That's basically everyone in the Capitol," I say.

"Maybe, but these are truly the scum of the Capitol. These are the ones who kill children for sport. I don't know what your mother was thinking."

I sniff. "Well, she's never been much of a mother."

My grandmother looks around and says, "It's a lovely day for a walk in the garden. I think some of my flowers are blooming."

This is code for 'I have something to tell you, but your mother can't know.'

"Did you know I get my own place?" I say. "Mother says I can redecorate it since I'm living there. Will you help me?"

"Of course, dear." We go out into the garden. It is pleasantly warm now, but in the few hours the temperature threatens to rise dramatically. Since the war in the Old Times, the weather has changed drastically. It has to do with weapons used by the county before Pandem was formed, nuclear, I think. It disrupted the atmosphere and so the Capitol's weather goes from one extreme to another. In the summer it's hot, and in the winter it's frigid. There is a light breeze.

My grandmother puts an arm around my waist. "Don't trust those who give you expensive gifts."

"What about my mentor?"

"If they let you choose, go with your instinct and first impressions. Actions speak louder than words. It'll keep you alive."

If I used first impressions, I didn't have much to go on. The Head Gamekeeper Seneca Crane's beard scared me. I heard he preferred young girl in the bedroom. Plutatch Heavensbee was a womanizer whose wife divorced him after she caught him having an affair with his children's nanny. He also had his eye on Crane's position for years. Then there was Contessa Lister who made up stories about my friendship with her so-called non-existent children. She like younger men and supposedly had a harem of on-call male suitors. I didn't know much about the other Gamemakers, but I could guess they were the same breed as Contessa and Plutarch. And then there was Dimitri, the slightly unhinged victor.

"Did Dimitri say anything to you last night as he drove you home?"

"No," I lie. "Emily was there with me when he drove us home. He didn't say much, just congratulations. We danced earlier in the evening. He seems nice enough."

My grandmother stopped to examine a red rose. "It strikes me very odd that someone like him is a Gamemaker."

"Maybe it wasn't his choice," I say. Rumors have it that after they win they try to break the victors. Annie Cresta is one example. Apparently after her victory tour they tortured her. Apparently there was rumor of unrest in the districts. However, there are always rumors about revolts and demonstrations in the districts. "I should probably start getting ready for my new gig."

My grandmother hugs me. "Good luck. I'll probably be here when you get back. The garden's need work."

We have Avoxes and a gardener that tend to the garden, but I know with the horrors my grandmother endured both from the Games and the Capitol, pruning, weeding and planting flowers keeps her sane.

Two hours later, I am ready to go for my meeting. The beauty process took less time because of all the work done yesterday. I am wearing my grey suit skirt and jacket with a purple scoop neck shirt underneath that Emily picked out. I am wearing minimal makeup, a move done by both my stylists and Emily to play up my youth and inexperience; an advantage that could go either way.

"You look great," Emily says. "You look the part."

"I only wish I could feel it."

"Fake it until you make it." She hands me a black bag. However, it is stuffed with piano music. Too lazy to take it out I hastily stuff a fresh note book alongside Brahms, Beethoven and Debussy.

I take deep breath and steel myself. As soon as I leave this house I become a part of the Games. It's a role that I do not want, but one that I am required to play..

My mother calls me from in the foyer. I hurry down stairs, careful not to trip. A sprained ankle and bloody nose would not be a good thing. Both of those things make for a lousy first impression.

"Avis Barkley is here to pick you up," Mother says. I have no idea who this person is, but I assume he is somehow related to the Gamemakers. He's probably one of Crane's Avoxes.

A lightly-tanned man wearing a simple black suit with a red tie, stands at my front door. I instantly dislike him. He removes his sunglasses and holds out his hand to shake mine. "Congratulations on your appointment to the Gamemakers. It is a great honor to serve with someone with your credentials."

"Thank you," I say stiffly.

"Shall we go?" He gestures to the door.

"Yes, we don't want you to be late." She straightens my jacket once more. "Good luck darling. Here's the key for the apartment. I'll meet you there after the meeting and bring you a change of clothes."

Good luck, darling. More like 'Have fun in this hell that I've sent you to for the next couple of weeks.'

In the driveway, a red sports car is waiting. Avis opens the passenger side of the car.

"This is a very nice car," I say. "Thank you for picking me up." The inside is black leather and only seats two people. I buckle my seatbelt.

"Thank you," he beams. "I just got this car a week ago. It's very retro. Have you ever been in a sports car?"

"No."

"Well, do you like fast cars?" I don't like the way he's looking at me from behind his sunglasses. Cross another possible person I can trust off the list.

"How far are we from the meeting?" I ask.

"About fifteen minutes. If we had some time to spare, I'd show you how fast this thing can go."

"I may not have time," I say. "If the meeting lets out early enough, I may try to make it to class."

"Mmm…" he says, "A goody-two shoes, eh?"

I look out the window feeling uncomfortable. Avis tries to make more conversation, but he soon gives up. After passing though a few checkpoints, we stop at a dead end. Avis rolls down his window and presses a code into what looks like an old mail box. From the wall a tunnel appears. Avis revs the engine. Tires squeal and we are plunged headlong into the long tunnel. The tunnel is big enough for two lanes of traffic, but we are the only one. My heart sinks into my stomach.

From behind us there is a roar of another engine. A single headlight comes up behind up. Avis looks in his rearview mirror and swears. The man on a motorcycle passes us and waves as he does so. "That asshole," Avis swears and slams on the gas pedal. "He wants to race, does he?" We lurch forward; I cling to the door. The motorcyclist cuts in front of us. Avis swings to the side and floors it.

Up ahead the tunnel curves forcing both of them to slow down. Avis floors the engine again and curses. The motorcyclist allows Avis to get closer, but then he zooms out of sight. The tunnel ends and opens into large parking area. A few cars are parked in a few of the spaces. They are expensive-looking cars and most likely belong to the Gamemakers. The motorcyclist pulls into one. Avis pulls into the space beside him and rolls down my window.

I am able to get a closer look at the motorcyclist. Red curls pokes out from underneath the black helmet.

"Nice bike, Dimitri," Avis calls. "I'll beat you next time."

Dimitri chuckles and flips up the visor of his helmet, revealing his hazel eyes. The garish white make up is gone. "In that old thing? Yeah right."

"I let you win."

I sense this is an ongoing joke between the two of them. Avis seems remembers that I am in the car. "Dimitri this is our fresh meat is Cammi."

"Carmen," Dimitri and I say simultaneously.

"Her name is Carmen." Dimitri repeats. "We've met. Last night. I took her home after she became ill." He takes of his helmet and shakes his head. His red hair cascades across his shoulders.

"Whatever." Avis says. He gets out of the car and slams the door behind him. He seems annoyed that Dimitri got first dibs. "Same thing."

"No," Dimitri says coolly, getting off his bike He opens my door. "She's one of us now. You _will_ treat her with respect the respect she deserves."

"Or else, what?"

"You're a big boy; I shouldn't have to tell you." Dimitri keeps his eyes level with Avis's.

Avis fiddles with his keys and mutters something along the links of having to pay a parking ticket. He glares at Dimitri as he leaves. He heads towards the security booth located a little ways away from where we had parked.

"Thank you for that," I say. I tuck a strand of loose hair behind my ear. I try not to look at his scars that jut out from the corners of his mouth.

"Sure." He pulls off his gloves and stuffs them into his riding bag. "He's a bit of an asshole. Let me know if he keeps bothering you."

"I might need a ride home," I answer. "Or at least to where I'll be living during the games. He was my ride."

I stand there and look around at the deserted parking lot. The air is stuffy and the florescent lights buzz. Dimitri takes his time putting on his dress shirt, vest, and tie. "Oh, were you waiting on me?"

"I don't know where I'm going."

"You wouldn't happen to know how to tie a tie, would you? I can't do one without a mirror."

"It's been a while. When I was little and my father was around more, he used to let me tie his tie." I set my bag down. He hands me the black silk tie. I drape it around his neck. He holds his hair out of the way as I slip it under his collar. My hands shake uncontrollably as I take the wider end of the tie and try to remember how to tie it.

"Nervous?" he asks. The raspy voice I heard last night was gone.

"In front of you? never." I scoff.

"I meant the Gamemakers."

"Nervous, not so much. Intimidated, yes."

I take the wide end of the tie cross it over the narrow end of the tie, and then swing it under the narrow end and back to the left. "When I was younger, about maybe ten or so, my father went on a business trip. When he came back, all of his ties in his closet were tied for him.

Dimitri chuckles. "So did you lose your job as his neck tie tier?"

"That was pretty much the end of my career in that field." I straighten his tie and smooth his collar. "His stylist took over that. Is the knot too tight?"

"Feels great. Thank you." He gives me a small smile.

Another car pulls into the parking garage and stops in front of where we are standing. A window rolls down. "Yoo hoo! Carmen!" It's Contessa. "Get in; I'll give you a ride to the door." By the tone of the voice, I suppose I should oblige her. I can't afford to make any more enemies. We're still playing "nicey-nicey" as Dimitri put it last night.

"It's not that far," I say. "I can walk."

Dimitri checks his watch, "We need to hurry. It's getting close to ten thirty."

"I'd hate to see your fall in those heels."

"No, thank you. I'm fine. I told Dimitri I'd walk him."

"She keeps me out of trouble," he adds. He pulls my arm and we start the short trek across the parking garage.

"You need more help than that," she sniffs. She rolls up her window and tells her driver to driver her to the building.

"I don't understand, she's going to have to take the elevator like the rest of us. It's not like her driver can drop her at the front door."

"Where are we, exactly?" I ask. I lengthen my stride to match his.

"We're under the arena. The arena can only be accessed by this underground passage or hovercraft. When they bring in the tributes, they black out the windows so they can't see where they are going. It's for safety reasons more than anything. The Games aren't exactly…popular in some circles."

"Has there ever been an attack on the arena?"

He shrugs. "Not in my lifetime, I'm sure if you ask Plutarch or one of the older Gamemakers they can answer that question." He opens the glass door to the building. Inside, the walls are tiled green. An Avox mops the floor. I can tell he is an Avox by the way his lips are contorted.

"How long have you been a Gamemaker?"

"This is my third year." He presses the up button. "Any other questions?"

"What am I supposed to expect?"

Dimitri shrugs. "Whatever they throw at you."

"Can you be any more vague?"

Contessa bustles into the building just as the elevator door opens. She is out of breath and annoyed. "They wouldn't let my driver pull up to the building so I had to walk. Some new security measure."

"Oh that's another thing. Things tend to change quickly around here."

"Stop trying to scare her Dimitri," Contessa says annoyed. Today she is dressed in a hot pink feather dress and some sort of weird hat that is pinned directly to the side of her head. "Don't listen to him. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Anything else?" I ask.

The elevator doors open. "You might want to invest in a bullet-proof vest," he smirks.

"What are you going to do, kill me?" I ask.

"Nervous?" he answers.

"That's enough, Dimitri! Quit being such a bastard." Contessa grabs my arm and leads me down the hall. On one side, the hall overlooks the arena. I can see the tops of trees from where we stand. The sun is rising over the arena. A way off in the distance rests the cornucopia. Already it has been stocked with some supplies and weapons for the incoming tributes. A mockingjay flies from one tree to another.

I have no idea where I'll find a bullet-proof vest.

A/n: Sorry this is so long. I couldn't find a good place to break it. I am anxious to figure out what you think about Dimitri, or is it too soon to tell? Please Read and review!


	7. Chapter 7

I do not own _The Hunger Games_, but the plot of this story and original characters are mine.

**Chapter 7**

The Head Gamemaker sits at the head of the long conference table shuffling a set of papers. Very few people are in the room even though there are only a few minutes until the start of the meeting. In the middle of the table, there is a spread of assorted breakfast pastries and other foods. There are also two different kinds of wines, both open and coffee. At each chair there are nametags. To my great relief, I am not seated next to Contessa. I am instead seated between Lupe Peace and Plutarch. Contessa is seated further down across the table. Dimitri is seated across from me. I suspect the nametags are for my benefit. These people have been serving alongside each other for years.

I sit down and start looking at the papers in front of me. On top, there is a badge with my name, picture, and the seal of Panem. My name is written in gold letters below my picture.

**Carmen Hyde**

**Gamemaker**

There's an agenda of the meeting followed by a folder filled with all of the tributes' information. I pull my notebook from my bag as my fellow Gamemakers filter into the room. Dimitri slides into a chair beside me.

"You're not Plutarch," I say. "You sit over there, next to Contessa."

"I'm not sitting next to her, are you crazy?" He slouches in his chair and puts his hands behind his head. Clearly, he is not taking this meeting seriously. "He won't care."

"You don't know that." I dig around for something to write with. My bag has eaten my pen. I take out a few of my books and set them on the table. Dimitri picks up my book filled with Beethoven sonatas and flips through them.

"Can you play any of these?"

"Quite a few of them actually." It annoys me that he has decided to look at my sonatas without asking. My pen is at the bottom of my bag.

"Which one's your favorite?"

Before I can answer Emily's uncle seats himself on my other side of me. He is a tall man with jet black hair and almond-shaped eyes. "Hello, I'm Lupe Peace," he says pleasantly. "Nice to finally meet you."

"It's nice to finally meet you, Mr. Peace."

"Please, call me Lupe. These pastries look delicious!" He helps himself to a few of the different pastries. "Would you like some?"

"No thanks, I'll pass. I've already eaten"

"She's still feeling bad from yesterday," Dimitri adds. "Nerves."

"That's completely normal," Lupe says. " This meeting is pretty low key. It looks like we'll just be discussing the tributes and a few other things. Maybe take a tour of the arena. It shouldn't take more than an hour and a half."

"Contessa seemed to think it'd last a long time."

"She exaggerates. Don't listen to her," Dimitri interrupts. He is still looking at my sonata book. "In fact, stay away from her. She's sort of dangerous."

"I would take everything she says with a grain of salt," Lupe agrees. "If you have any questions or concerns, I'd be happy to help you. I've been doing this a long time. Actually, Plutarch and I began the same year."

The rest of the group files in, and takes their seats behind their nametags. Except for Plutarch, who ended up seated in between Contessa and the other female Gamemaker, Elina Villalobos. She has dark hair and emerald green eyes are enhanced by the gems surrounding them. I get the distinct feeling that she doesn't like me.

I pull my eyes away from hers and start looking at the stack of papers in front of me. On top, is the agenda for the meeting. Behind it, there's information about every tribute. The girl from District 1 is first. Glimmer. She has blond hair and emerald eyes. In her head shot, she stares coldly back at me.

"I'd like to call this meeting to order," Seneca Crane's voice interrupts my thoughts. "I'd like to welcome Carmen Hyde who is replacing her mother Vivian Hyde on the Council for this year's games. There's a few things I'd like to call your attention to that aren't on our agenda, mainly some security procedures that were put in place. We decided that it was best to not allow cars to pull up next to the building in the parking garage because we've had some problems with people parking illegally there and causing problems. Next, we've replaced the lighting in the tunnel connecting the arena to the living complex. It's now brighter and we provide escorts to those who want it. Are there any questions?"

"It hurts my feet to walk that far," Contessa complains. "I might have blisters from today."

"Well, then it might be time to invest in more comfortable shoes," Plutarch suggests. "Or wear a different pair from the car to the building."

She scowls at him. "They won't match my outfit. I have a distinct style."

"Any other questions, problems or concerns before we move to the tributes?" Seneca asks.

"A mentor for Carmen?" The person named Sixten Magoon. He has blue hair and looks about thirty. "Contessa mentioned it to Caesar Flickerman yesterday. I personally think it's a great idea. I would have loved to have one when I came on six years ago."

At the mention of her name, Contessa brightens. My stomach turns; I don't want her as my mentor. Something about her bothers me. Plus, someone who wears colors that resembles the medicine that calms heartburn, indigestion, and diarrhea doesn't strike me as someone who could be considered trustworthy.

Sixten continues. "I think Dimitri can vouch for me that there's so much to learn, how to keep the balance of intensity in the arena on your shift, excetra."

"That's another thing we need to talk about too," Lupe interrupted. "I think there should be two people working during each shift. Last year we had the issue of people sleeping during the shifts or not showing up which made us lose a lot of good opportunities to amp up the excitement of the Games."

Seneca nodded. "We'll talk about that more as the start of the Games gets closer. That's a good point, Lupe. Now-"

"I volunteer as Carmen's mentor," Contessa interrupts. "She needs a mother figure, because God knows she doesn't get that with her mother being so busy. And her grandmother, Jettie is a victor in the 14th Games. No doubt she's damaged and emotionallt unavailable."

"Don't talk about grandmother that way, you pompous—." I spit. You can say whatever you want about my mother. It's probably true. She is no saint, but I draw the line at my grandmother. Lupe puts a hand on my shoulder to keep me in my seat.

"Now, wait a minute," a man named Elmo says holding up his hands. He has wrinkles and white hair, something that most people in the Capitol try to avoid having. I thought my grandmother was the only one who had wrinkles. "I've had many friends that were victors. They're not all like Annie Cresta, a drunk like Haymitch Abernarthy or the morphlings in District 6. The majority of them are able to lead fulfilling lives after the Games."

"Depends on what you call fulfilling," Dimitri mutters. He shoves my sonata book back at me and folds his hands on the table.

"Well still…"

Plutarch cuts her off. "We need to take Carmen's needs into consideration and what will make her a successful Gamemaker. She's a blank slate seeing that Vivian kept her out of the workings of the Games for so long."

"Age of the mentor is another factor too," Elmo adds. "I wouldn't make a good mentor because I'm old enough to be her grandfather. I can't relate to her in the ways she need me too because, lets face it. I don't get young people these days." This produces chuckles from the group. Elmo winks and takes a sip of his coffee.

Elina pats his shoulder affectionately. "You may be old, but we still adore you anyway. I feel myself grin despite myself and some of the anger disappearing.

"If we're going by age, then only Sixten and Dimitri are eligible," Avis says.

"Who has mentoring experience?" Seneca interrupts.

The room falls silent. Only Elmo and Dimitri raise their hands. Of course, Dimitri would. As a victor, he had to mentor the following years tributes until someone else won, or he became a Gamemaker. Elmo has already counted himself out.

"Dimitri seems to like her well enough. That's a big deal because he has a hard time liking people these days." This produces chuckles from everyone but Contessa. "He took my seat, cut in on my dance with her yesterday, and soon he'll live across the hall from her."

"You couldn't ask for a better arrangement really," Elina says. "Vivian would approve, I think."

Vivian would approve. Of course she would. Dimitri is not Graham.

"She took me under her wing a little bit my first year," Dimitri answers. "That was three years ago, I think." I wonder if he and my mother were an item. It's a question I'm not sure I want to know the answer to.

"Sounds like a match made in heaven," Elmo says brightly. "She's pretty enough, isn't she Dimitri? I think so. Do you think she's cute?"

Dimitri blushes the color of his hair and scoots down in his chair. "Dirty old man. That's not what it's going to mean," he mutters. "Quit being creepy."

"Who knows, you could be a good influence on him," Plutarch says. "He needs all the help he can get."

"Maybe you can teach him how to play the piano and to comb his hair," Sixten says "and not live in squalor like a feral animal."

"And make him get rid of that awful white makeup," Elina replies. "Really, he looks like something out of a nightmare."

"Not funny," Dimitri mutters. He slumps in his seat again, clearly embarrassed.

"I helped him tie his tie this morning," I say. "That counts for something, right?"

"See! It's working already!" Elmo exclaims slamming his fist on the table. "I vote yes."

"But—" Contessa protests.

"All in favor say aye?" Seneca ask.

No one objects except Contessa. She scowls at both of us at both of us. The contortion of her face and hooked nose makes her look like an angry pink bird. "You didn't ask if Carmen was okay with it or Dimitri."

"If they minded they would have said something by now. Stop referring to us like we aren't in the room," Dimitri says coolly.

"Seneca took a vote, neither objected," Sixten says.

Contessa purses her lips but doesn't say anything. "Well, she's just so naïve. It's obvious that Dimitri plans to take advantage of that."

"Excuse me?" Dimitri interrupted. "When have I ever come across as a threat to her?"

"You are unpredictable and you—" The rest of her words are drowned out as the room breaks out in a shouting match. Sixten stands up to make his point and accidentally elbows the male Avox bringing in fresh pastries. The tray flips and pastries scatter everywhere. No one seems to notice. Seneca claps his hands get everyone's attention.

"Let's take a ten minute break, why don't we before we get into the tributes? That way we can settle down."

The others murmur in agreement. Contessa is the first to storm out. She picks up a fallen croissant and throws it in our direction. It bounces harmlessly on the table and bounces a few times and stops in front of Dimitri. He tears a piece of it and pops it in his mouth. I now understand his comment about needing a bulletproof vest. It wasn't the tributes I need protection from. It was my co-workers. Contessa's contempt was proof of that.

"Well, that was fun," he says. "Don't worry, you're not my type. I don't go for Capitol girls."

"I have Graham," I say. Guilt overwhelms me. I haven't talked to him since last night and I don't have time to call him in the small break I have now. Dimitri offers me a piece and I take it.

"He's not a fan of the Games," I say carefully. We are the only ones still in the room at this point. "His younger brother was a tribute in the 70th Games."

Dimitri nods knowingly, "I hope your relationship is strong, for your sake."

"Speaking of relationships, what did you do to make Contessa hate you so much?"

He chuckles and pours himself a glass of wine. "That's a long story that involves … certain things I did my first year that I probably shouldn't have done. Some of them I regret."

"My mother?"

"That was part of it. Not in the way you're thinking though." He licks his fingers and smirks, "It wasn't like that at all. Like I said, I don't go for Capitol women."

Contessa storms back the room and glares at us. Her face is a puffy pink. "You may have think you've won Dimitri, but just you wait!"

I am completely lost in this exchange, but Dimitri raises his glass and toasts. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

"And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor," I imitate Effie Trinket from District 12.

A/N: Please review!


	8. Chapter 8

I do not own _The Hunger Games_, but the plot of this story and original characters are mine.

I divided this chapter into two parts because having I was afraid it'd be too long.

**Chapter 8**

As the rest of the group comes back into the conference room, the tension has dropped immensely. Everyone has seemed to have forgotten the incident between Contessa and Dimitri. Seneca Crane takes his seat at the head of the table. "Now that we've all cooled down, let's get to what really matters: the Games." He pulls up a projection that shows the arena from a bird's eye view. "This year's arena will be similar to last years in that the Cornucopia will be in the center." He zooms on this with his pointer. The main water source will be to the south. To east and north there will be a mixed deciduous forest." To the west there will be a field of grain. This will be a new addition this year."

"I think we've tried this before," Elmo said "But something went wrong with the wheat. It didn't grow or something. The conditions weren't right. Even with our advanced technology we still managed to screw it up."

"This year we brought a few of the best farmers from District 9 and 11 to ensure that the conditions were correct. In exchange, their children were taken out of the Reaping and they will get some upcoming rations for the year," Seneca answers.

"What's the update on the wildlife in the arena?" Plutarch asks.

Lupe clears his throat. "They all seem to be thriving, even the trees and trackerjackers. There was some concern about the grain and what surprises to put in the there, and we're still working on that. This year's theme we're trying to make the arena as natural as the ones our ancestors came here and lived in a thousand years ago. The arena mimics the terrain of the Appalachian Mountains. The field portion of the arena is supposed to represent a valley."

"Is the arena actually sloped?" Sixten asks.

"As much as it can be without breaking building codes," He chuckles. "We want our tributes to be somewhat safe. It would be a downer if the arena collapsed or something."

"Or we have another Haymitch Abernarthy," Elina says.

"Him," Contessa snorts. "He's not as smart as he'd like to think he is. Now Finnick Odair, now that's a real man."

"Any other updates?" Seneca says quickly turning the topics. I suspect that Haymitch is not a popular topic. I make a note to ask Dimitri what Haymitch did later when we are alone.

A glass of wine appears in front of me. "Trust me, you want it," he says softly. I am slightly annoyed at him. Contessa's threat of him wanting to take advantage of me stands out in my mind. I do not like it.

"Are we going to have mutts this year?" Avis asks.

"Lupe?" Seneca says. "You're in charge of the wild things and things that go bump in the night. What say you?"

"Well, there's the trackerjackers . However, this year we plan on taking the mutts to a new level. For the finale, I plan to make the mutts resemble the dead tributes. You know, it'll up the horror and entertain the audiences."

Suddenly, I am grateful for the wine. I take a sip and it burns my throat. I wonder what Emily would think is she found out what her uncle does for the Games. Suddenly, I am afraid what my role is. I am also afraid of the power they trust me with. You have people like Contessa who do things out of spite. If she doesn't like a specific candidate, she can kill them on her shift.

Dimitri pokes me in the elbow and slides another croissant to me. I shove it hastily in my mouth to hide my emotions. There is some more discussion about the wildlife and the threat of trackerjackers to the contestant.

"If anything, they'll have fun hallucinations," Avis said.

"Yeah, but we can't show that. We don't have the technology to show what's on other people's minds," Elmo says "It'll just look like their half dead."

Sixten asks. "What are the purposes of the mockingjays? Surely they aren't just decorations?"

"Didn't we decide to record screams of family members and have them transfer through forest. If they aren't unhinged, then that will do it," Dimitri says. "They'll remember that forever. It'll drive them mad. Possibly incite a blood bath."

"A taste of what to expect if they don't obey the Capitol," Elina says, "I like it. Very good, Dimitri."

"Better yet, if the tributes from a district are close." A cold smile plays on his lips. His scars make his smile look demonic. "The audience will eat it up as the still living tribute dashes to find their district mate, heading straight into enemy lines."

The conversation of the Gamemakers meander a bit as they talk about other possible dangers to include in the arena. Then Seneca pulls our attention to our tributes.

"In front of you is the information of this year's tributes. Please look read through them. As you know, the Opening Ceremony is tomorrow evening. Don't forget the party before hand. It is not required that you come, but it is strongly encouraged. Now, that's all I have. How about we go take a look at the arena?"

I take another draught of my wine. It burns going down. I can't believe that I'm drinking this early in the morning. I certainly don't intend to make it a habit. I gather up things and follow Lupe and the other out of the conference room. Contessa stays behind. I assume it's because of her blisters.

"How do we get to the arena since the tributes come in through launch rooms?" I ask Dimitri.

"We take an elevator to the second floor and enter through a door there. The first floor is the launch rooms. The door will be sealed off with a force field once the Games start." We stop at a glass elevator that overlooks the arena. This too will be sealed off once the Games start. Dimitri, Elmo, Avis, Elina, and I step into it. Avis presses a button and we fly down at a dizzying speed through the trees and finally to a pair of metal doors. I guess when you're a Gamemaker, you have to be able to get to places fast. Or maybe it's the wine. The other Gamemakers seem to not notice the speed.

When the doors open, my mother is waiting. She is already wearing a bulletproof vest. I step out of the elevator; she hugs me and then Dimitri. "It's so good to see you," she says. "Contessa's not here?"

Dimitri rolls his eyes. "She has blisters from walking maybe a hundred feet. You know how she is. God forbid if she gets dirty."

"Darling, I brought you a change of clothes. You don't want to be tramping through the arena and heels." She hands me a bag and points me to the nearest bathroom. I go in and change quickly. My mother has picked out a pair of jeans and a blue button up shirt and a brown belt. I pull my badge over my head and walk out. My mother and Dimitri are waiting for me. The rest of the Gamemakers have already left.

My mother takes my bag and clothes and puts them back into the golf cart. Dimitri hands me a bulletproof vest. "It should fit." He and my mother are wearing one as well.

"Since the area is over three hundred square miles," my mother says. "We're going to take a cart to explore some of it."

Before the Games, all trace of previous human activity would be removed. Then again, in the beginning, the tributes would be too busy running for their lives to notice tire tracks or anything else.

I am surprised when my mother offers to take the backseat of the cart and allow me to sit with Dimitri in the front. An Avox opens a large set of metal doors and we drive into the arena. Once the heavy doors close behind us, I feel like I have been transferred in hundred years back in time. The cart bumps over various roots and rocks as Dimitri drives. I can see the tire tracks of the other Gamemakers. We reach the Cornucopia. Its golden horn rises in the sky. It is both the death and salvation for the tributes. We get out of the cart and walk around the area. Dimitri puts a hand up to his eyes and surveys the area around it. I see wires poking out of the ground. Mines. Dimitri almost steps on one. I grab his sleeves, which catches him off balance.

"Careful," I shout, grabbing his arm. "Don't step on the mines."

He chuckles and puts his hand on mine. "Relax, they're disabled. All the traps minus the trackerjackers are not active. They won't be until that morning."

"This is quite impressive," My mother says, "I see Elmo got his damn wheat to grow. Plutarch!" She waves in his direction. He shouts something back at her that I can't quite understand. My mother hurries off towards him.

"Here, I want to show you something," Dimitri takes my wrist and pulls me towards the Cornucopia. We walk a little ways and then we stop. He points to a silver plate that is strategically placed in the brown dirt. There is one every fifty feet around the golden horn. "This is where the tributes come up. When the gong goes off they can step off their plate."

"What happens if they go before?"

He stares at me grimly. "It's game over. They explode. This place is mined. What they show on television is only half of it. There's a lot of blood even if they don't step on the mines. As Gamemakers, we have to find the right balance of blood and gore. We want to keep them enticed, but not completely gross them out either."

"How can you tell where the mines are?"

"When you're running like hell, you pray that you won't find out," He is still holding my wrist. He points to an uneven area in the dirt. "See how that's uneven? I bet that's one. They have mines in all the Hunger Games." He kicks the surface and there is a dull clang. "Every single fucking time." His eyes become misty as he stares at the Cornucopia. No doubt, he is remembering his own Games. A single tear rolls down his cheek. He wipes it away quickly and looks around.

"Come on; let's go see Oscar's damn grain."

I catch his arm, and look around quickly. There is no one near us. "How are you a Gamemaker?" I whisper. "Doesn't it hurt you?

Dimitri looks sad and his voice is pained. "Why are you doing it?"

"I—"

He puts a finger to my lips. "There's your answer. Don't ask me again."

"Sorry," I say softly.

"You want to see the wheat or the forest?"

I have never seen either of them in real life. "Wheat."

"You know music, wasn't there a song about amber waves of grain? Something about shining seas, and brotherhood?"

"America the Beautiful? Oh beautiful for spacious skies, for ambers waves of grain?" I sing.

He frowned and hums the tune back to me. "It sounds familiar, though my memory isn't that great any more, thanks to the Capitol. Can you play it?"

"I might have a copy of the music lying around. Those songs are taboo," I say. "The Capitol banned them long before the Games started, though no one probably knows them now."

It makes me nervous that we are standing in the middle of the Hunger Games arena talking about treason and plot. Then again, music has been used to fuel revolutions in the past, such as the peace movement in the 1960s and 1970s. Though back in those days, people weren't watched like they are now. I'm sure cameras are watching us as we speak. Dimitri wouldn't put me in obvious danger like this would he?"

"I've done worse things than sing taboo songs. Plus they've got bigger fish to fry," Dimitri says. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me close to him. I awkwardly wrap my arms around his waist. "Besides, if you wanted to start a revolution, the Games are a perfect time to start one." He murmurs in my ear. "But you didn't hear that from me."

He unwraps his arm around my shoulder and guides me back to the waiting cart. He starts it and we speed off "To wheat!"

"Then we'd lose everything." My mind is still stuck on his previous words. I figure we're safe enough to discuss it over the hum of the engine. The cart jolts over the uneven terrain. We're going too fast for the camera's to catch anything. "Our lives, homes, families," I continue. "The way we live."

His hazel eyes pierce mine as he stops the cart. "A lot of us have nothing to lose."

A/n: So, obviously I don't own "America the Beautiful." If I did, I'd be rich and well… I'm not so… please read and review.


	9. Chapter 9

I do not own _The Hunger Games_, but the plot of this story and original characters are mine.

**Chapter 9**

An hour or so later we come back from exploring the arena. My stomach is growling louder than an angry mutt. Now, I really regret not eating more at the meeting. Mother offers to drive me to my piano lesson before we continue with figuring out my Hunger Games duties. I haven't practiced as much as I normally do, and I'm worried about the outcome of my lesson.

"Maybe I should just cancel it," I say.

"It's up to you," my mother says. "Though it may be good to do something normal for a change."

Right now we're headed to my new place. I don't know what I'm really expecting. Part of me expects a collection of knives hanging on the wall and mirrors on the ceiling. We drive through an equally long tunnel to get there. I pull my phone out to check it. In the course of three hours, Graham has called me six times and left me three voicemails and several angry texts along the lines of how dare you leave without me you whore. _I don't want to deal with this right now_, I think. Emily has called me once and sent me a text. Hers asks how the meeting went.

"Have you heard from Graham?" My mother asks offhandedly.

"I haven't talked to him, no, but he's called me," I say. "I don't think he's very happy I left with Dimitri and Emily. He's probably worried that something happened to me."

"Your grandmother told him where you went," My mother says. We pull into another big, concrete parking garage. "Maybe he's calling to check on you."

"Maybe," I say.

That's what I would like to think, but something tells me that it is something more than that. He saw me dance with Dimitri and I immediately feel guilty, though I know I shouldn't. Nothing happened. The way the entrance is set up is similar to the arena. However, this entrance is only for the Gamemakers. There is a front door that guests can come and go from. The mentors will also be staying here, but on a different wing of the building. My mother explains that this is for our safety, as well as preventing conflict of interests. There are strict rules, surprisingly, on how the Gamemakers and mentors influence the outcome of the Games. There is still corruption like there is anywhere. Dimitri's motorcycle and the silver car he drove last night are already parked side by side in a parking space. My mother pulls into a space beside his car.

Upon seeing his car, my mother asks. "So what do you think of him?"

"He seems nice," I say. I don't want to say normal because I know that he's not. No one that goes to the Games comes back alive is the same person. "I heard a rumor that I'm living across the hall from him."

"Yes, that's correct," she says.

"Who told you?"

"Plutarch."

She sighs. "That man is like a leaky bucket. You can't tell him anything. I personally requested it."

"Why?"

She shrugs. "Dimitri is close to your age. I hoped that maybe you could be friends. It is very lonely job, being a Gamemaker."

I sense there is something to her words, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Why him? Why not Lupe, Sixten or Plutarch? Hell, why not Contessa? Plutarch and my mother have been friends as long as I can remember. But then again, there are the rumors that he is a womanizer. I make a mental note to call Emily and see if she can give me the dirt on my co-workers.

"He seems nice," I say. "But I'm still dating Graham."

I live on the twentieth floor. My mother and I get into the glass elevator and she shows me how to scan my badge so that it'll allow access to that specific floor. There are three apartments on every floor. I am on second to last on top. The top floor belongs to Seneca Crane. The doors open revealing a large desk. Several Peacekeepers sit behind us. They nod, but my mother keeps walking and does not acknowledge their presence. On either side of us there are two long hall ways. My mother takes the one on to the left. We walk a ways and then I see my last name on written on a cream placard with room number five at the end of the hall. Directly across from me in number six, is Dimitri. An ornate carpet covers the hardwood in the hallway. My mother hands me the key to her what used to be her apartment, now mine.

The door opens easily and I walk into my apartment. The small foyer opens into a large living that is arrange neatly with a large tan leather sofa. There is also a big screen television. What amazes me is the Steinway piano. I drop my bag and hurry over to it. I touch the smooth ivory keys. It's brand new. It is one of the few brands left from the Old Days, the days before Panem was founded. They are very rare. Because of my parents I was able to get one. Now I have two. Baskets of music sit behind the bench. "How did you manage to get a grand piano up here?"

She shrugs. "It wasn't easy. Do you like it?"

"I love it." I say. "How did you get it up here on such short notice?"

She looks around nervously. "Let's go see the rest of the apartment, shall we?"

Her evasion of my question indicates that my appointment was something that was done on whim. My mother does nothing on whim.

Confused, I follow her. It seems unlikely that my mother would have gotten it up here since my appointment. It's possible, I guess, but it's not like one can order a Steinway and have it shipped in less than twenty-four hours. They are rare. Very rare. The rest of the apartment is nice. I have a dining room, a large master bedroom with its own personal bath and a guestroom. I am not sure the purpose of the guest room is, since I don't really have any close friends. This is my first step to freedom.

My bedroom is painted a darker shade of blue and to my great relief, no mirrors on the ceiling. A quilt my grandmother had made was spread neatly across the bed. I recognize it from the bed I used to sleep in when I used to visit her in District 7 during the summers when I was a child. She lived in the Victor's village of course. I haven't seen it in years. I run my hand across the faded fabric. I know my mother's tastes. They are rich and expensive. There would be no way she would use a quilt from District 7. She frowned upon it when my father brought it back. "We are not poor people," she said before she had locked it away in the closet. I had dug it our and put it on my bed, much to her dismay.

After the tour, my mother checks her watch, and sighs. "Darling, I have to go run some more errands. I've left you the car so you can go to you lesson. I didn't move your clothes or any of your personal things here. I thought you may want to do that." She gives me a kiss on the cheek and leaves.

I walk back to the kitchen and pull my phone out of my purse. Graham has called yet again. I scroll through the twelve text messages that he sent me. Each one of them is angrier than the first. Apparently, the cameras caught Dimitri's and I's dance and were showing it over and over. A potential romance? Over my dead body.

Finally, I summon up the courage to call him. It rings twice and then he answers. "About time you picked up."

"I don't suppose it was worry for my health that you kept calling me?"

"No. What the hell happened last night?"

"I don't know," I say honestly. "It's not a bit of a blur."

"You went home with some other guy and left me by myself."

"My mother said she told you that I was sick?" I say. I trace my finger on the white granite counter top. Graham would probably tell me it was from District 2. He liked to tell me where everything came from. Probably to point out what a naïve Capitol girl I am.

"Yeah, but you should have told me you were leaving. I would have gone with you."

"I couldn't find you. When my mother announced that I was a Gamemaker, you disappeared."

"You should have looked harder," he yelled. "I was there. Then I saw you leave with some chick and the creepy clown. What did you do, have a threesome to celebrate?"

"Yes, that is exactly what we did. I can't believe you are acting like such a child! Have you been injected with trackerjacker venom?" I exclaim. "Nothing happened. He didn't take advantage of me. Emily made sure of that."

"Who's Emily?"

"The girl who went with me. If you were so worried about me and saw us leave, why didn't you say something?" I shot back.

"You seemed to like the clown's company."

"His name is Dimitri," I say firmly. "I expect you to treat him with respect."

"Whatever," He sneers. "You're only saying that because he's a victor and you feel sorry for him. And.."

"And for the record you were flirting with some chick last night. She wore a yellow dress."

"Shit!" Graham cries. "Carman…"

I interrupt. "So let me get this straight: its okay for you to chase after some bimbo, but it's not okay for one of my fellow Gamemakers to take me home because I'm not feeling well?"

"Fellow Gamemaker…" he mimicked. "Yeah right. You know how I feel about the Games. My brother—"

"I'm sorry." My doorbell rings. "This wasn't my choice okay? I just need you to be supportive of me regardless of how you feel."

"…Killing innocent children."

"I have to go." It's a lost cause. I hang up on him. My phone rings angrily. I let it go and go answer the door. Dimitri stands in my living room holding a bottle of wine. He's wearing tight black jeans and a leather jacket. "Sorry, I let myself in. The door was unlocked."

"It's fine," I say "I was on the phone."

"I brought you some wine," he says. "Welcome to the neighborhood. I would have made you cookies, but I don't know how to cook."

"Thank you!" I say. "I appreciate it very much and for you being my mentor."

Dimitri chuckles. "I hope I can live up to your expectations."

"To be honest, I don't even what to expect from this whole thing."

"Well, it's kind of trial by fire, literally. Every Games is different. Do you like living on your own?

I shrug. I wonder how much he heard, but at the same time it doesn't matter. "For the most part. I'm just getting settled in. I'm actually getting ready to leave. I have a piano lesson today."

"Oh," Dimitri says, "Well, then I won't stay long. I just wanted to give you the wine before I forgot.

"No, not at all. Today has been a busy day. Thank you so much for the wine. Truly."

"If you have any problems at all, don't hesitate to call me." He pulls out his wallet and gives me his card. "Or come over. My door is always unlocked."

"Oh, what time does the party before the Opening Ceremonies start?"

"There is a dinner at six and then the actually ceremonies and a party afterwards. Are you taking that boy? What's his name, Graham?"

"He's busy." I lie. "He's working overtime. I'm going by myself."

Dimitri doesn't seem surprised. "That's too bad. Funny, how that works. His job must be really important."

"Central defense?"

He shrugs. "Semi-important. Someone has something against your boyfriend if he's working the night of the Opening Ceremonies. So who are you taking to the dinner? I assume you're going?"

"I…I'm going by myself."

"It's not very fun to go by yourself." He leans against the door frame. "Anyone else you have in mind?"

"Do you have a date?" I ask.

Dimitri shrugs. "I haven't decided yet."

"I may see if Emily wants to go."

"That would be fun," he muses, rubbing his chin. "Well, I'll let you go. Come by sometime."

"Thanks I will." My phone rings again. Ignoring it, I shut the door and grab my books. I'm tempted just to leave it here. I pick it up again. "STOP CALLING ME!" I yell. I throw it on the counter. I don't care if I get in a wreck or my car breaks down; I'm not taking it with me. I'll manage somehow.

A/n:

Thank you for reading. It'll start heating up soon, I hope. How would you feel if there were some chapters in Dimitri's point of view? Let me know in the comments or PM me. I'll see if I can figure out the poll feature.


	10. Chapter 10

Again, I don't own the Hunger Games, but I do own this story and the original characters.

**Chapter 10**

Four hours later, I return back to my new apartment with two large suitcases of clothes and other personal items that I didn't trust to stay at home. I feel better, but I wasn't sure how long that was going to last, given that the Opening Ceremonies started tomorrow. I need to familiarize myself with the tributes and unpack. Now, that I was here at my new place the loneliness starts to set in.

I exit the elevator and walk down the hall with my two suitcases rolling behind me. I still have to figure out what I am going to eat for dinner. This is a new responsibility that I wasn't used to having. As I come in the door, my mother is standing in the kitchen with my grandmother and my stylist, Regan. Several bouquets of flowers and gifts sit on the counter. There is also a small computer and phone. They do not look familiar and probably somehow related to my job. Gamemaker essentials.

"There you are," My mother says. "We need to go over what you're wearing tomorrow."

"Mother," I start…

"And Graham, who I assume is going to be your date?"

My mood instantly sours. Fuck him. I don't want to look at my phone. I don't want to know how many messages he's left me calling me a killer. His response is the complete opposite of what I expected from him. Though, I guess I can't blame him. Yet that gives him no excuse for being a douche about it. It's not like I want the job.

"Graham? He's not going," I answer. "I don't… I might go with Dimitri. I haven't…I haven't asked him yet. He'll probably say no."

My mother and Regan exchange glances. My mother opens her mouth to say something.

"I could ask Emily," I offer. "Maybe I shouldn't ask Dimitri. That would be too weird." I walk away from them and sit down at the piano. I play a major chord. "He brought me a bottle of wine and he asked who I was going with and I said no one," I say to no one in particular.

"I thought you and Graham were doing okay," Regan said.

"Yeah, well, funny how things change," I mutter. I play a jarring minor chord. A German 6th.

"Well, this is what I had in mind for tomorrow night," Regan hands me a sketch. "It'll definitely turn some heads. It'll remind Graham of what he's losing."

I turn on the lamp beside my piano and look at it. The dress she has in mind is a one shouldered chiffon navy dress. It has a long slit that stops mid-thigh. It has a sparkly pin on the shoulder. The back is open except for two pieces of beaded fabric that criss cross across the shoulders. It is very sexy and not overdone like most Capitol fashions. "I like it."

"We want to portray you as different," Regan says. "Classy."

"Young," My grandmother adds. "Not like them."

I nod. This being 'not like the others' seems to be an ongoing trend. One of these things is not like the other, but still is because I am a Gamemaker. Even though I claim to be different, I'm still one of them.

My doorbell rings. My heart sinks. A part of me is afraid that it's Graham. That would be impossible though. He doesn't know that I live here, and I'm sure my mother would be the last person to tell him where I live, seeing that she hates him anyway. My mother comes back from the door carrying a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolate. "These are from Plutarch. He sent an Avox. Another issue…"

"I don't want one," I say. I want to be completely on my own. Cleaning does not bother me. Having someone wait on me does. It always has. More so in the last couple of days.

"It wouldn't do," My mother begins.

"No one's coming here except for me," I say. "And Mother, while I appreciate all you've done here, I am ready to be on my own."

"That means no visiting and coming in unannounced," my grandmother adds.

My mother looks a little surprised at this demand from my grandmother, but to my relief she agrees. "Yes, being a Gamemaker is very stressful. I got you something to help combat the stress and loneliness." She disappears into my bedroom.

"Well, that's it for me," Regan says, "See you tomorrow."

My mother comes back carrying a carrier. Inside there is mewing. She sets it on the ground and motions me to open it. From inside, two fluffy kittens tumble from it. One of them is orange and white, and the other completely orange tiger stripe. I pick up the orange one and cuddle it. It immediately starts purring loudly.

"They're so cute!" I exclaim.

My mother sits down on the floor beside me in her heels. "One year, one the Gamemakers had kittens and somehow it made things easier," She chuckled. "There were several of us who came over and played with them after our shift. They aren't purebred though."

"That doesn't matter to me." I say. "Now I have to go buy them some new toys."

"The orange and white one is a little girl and the entirely orange on is a little boy. They're siblings."

I give my mother a hug. "Thank you, Mother. They're perfect."

We play with them a while before my mother says she has to go. She sighs. "I know what I did wasn't ideal, but it's for the best. I have to meet a friend for dinner." She kisses me on the forehead. "Take care."

"Mother," I ask timidly. "They gave me all the information about each tribute. What am I supposed to do with it?"

"Read it and take notes. Pretend it's a class."

A class where you take notes and your subjects get killed by each other and possibly you. A class in which those who supposedly love you point fingers at you and tell you you're a killer. My mother stands up and straightens her skirt. Suddenly, she isn't my mother any more, she is Vivian Hyde, socialite. She hugs me again. I don't pull away. Then she leaves and it is just my grandmother and I.

"I thought maybe we could make dinner in your place tonight," my grandmother says.

I don't want to be alone just yet. "Would you like to stay the night? I've got a guest bed."

She chuckles. "No, I don't think so. You'll have to face the loneliness sometime."

"Plus you have to be out this way tomorrow. It's the start of the Hunger Games."

My grandmother makes a face. The victors are strongly encouraged to attend both the Opening Ceremonies and the parties before and after. The only ones really excused are those who are ill or unable to travel. I've been to a few parties with my grandmother. I remember the pain in her eyes as she meets other victors and talk about their tributes. It's the same every year, who's died, who's lost their mind.

"How do you feel about chicken pot pie for dinner? I know it's not winter, but we both need some comfort food," she asks.

"Grandmother, do you hate me now because I'm a Gamemaker?"

"Of course not, darling," she says. She comes and sits beside me on the couch. "You did not bring these Games into being. Being on this council was certainly not your choice, and if anything a strategy move by your mother."

I feel my heart sink. This is what I was afraid of. It's a ploy. I come from a family of Gamemakers, so why not? It must hurt that her son is one too. Despite the words that come out of her mouth, she has a deep-seeded hate for the Hunger Games and all that it stands for. It robbed her of a normal life, and gave her terrible nightmares for the rest of her life. She sleeps with the lights on at night and clutching a knife. The orange and white kitten plays with the fringe on the carpet. The orange one is curled up in my lap.

"Don't let your mother's political moves distract you from doing your job," she continues. "Get to know your fellow Gamemakers and make your own allies. There's got to be more to them, than what meets the eye."

"Mother's worked with them for many years. She mentored Dimitri. He said so today during the meeting."

"Tell me about this Dimitri. I only met him briefly."

I tell her about the push for him to mentor me because he was near my age, also his familiarity with old patriotic songs, and his status as a victor and his tears at the Cornucopia.

She sits for a moment and then catches the female kitten who is trying to climb the couch. "I don't remember his Games. I've seen so many." She is silent for a minute. "I think his was the year where it was set in a rainforest and there were man-eating fish. Surely, you have access to past Games. I'm sure you do. Find out more about him, who's company he keeps. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer."

"He also said I should invest in a bullet-proof vest."

"That probably wouldn't be a bad idea," She chuckles. "He would know. He's been under fire for so many things."

"What kind of things?"

She shrugs. "He's… had a very troubled past." That's all she says. I guess you don't discuss a victor's problems or what has happened to them after they fade from the spotlight. Winning the Games gives them this aura of immortality, yet, they are soon forgotten as when fresh blood shows up.

"I can't read him very well." I say. "Sometimes it seems like he's flirting with me or being really sarcastic."

"He could very well just being male."

"Graham doesn't do that." I pet the orange kitten in my lap. He is very mellow, unlike his sister, who is already beginning to show an ornery streak. I decide that I am going to name him Oliver. Then again, Graham didn't survive the Hunger Games.

"Being a victor is a complicated thing," my grandmother says, "Combine what he's doing with the trauma he's suffered, I don't blame him. He probably doesn't know how to act half of the time. You're so afraid of committing a faux pas." She chuckles. "He's probably not sure what to make of you, Vivian Hyde's daughter."

"I don't think he's afraid of me."

Oliver has gotten bored of my petting and playfully attacks his sister. We watch them wrestle. Her name is Althea.

"You should unpack some. It'll make you less uneasy." She pats my shoulder before I can protest.

"Maybe we can play some duets later?" I ask.

"That would be fun. The kitchen was supposed to come completely stocked with food, but I may have to pop out get something if you don't have it." She stands up from the couch and goes to the kitchen.

"I saw him without the garish makeup today," I say. "He's very nice looking. He's got a great smile."

"You sound almost smitten," She jokes.

"Apparently, I'm not his type. He's not into Capitol girls."

"He's probably a nice young man, just very, very broken. There are a lot of things that happen in the arena that they don't show on television," she says. "But don't feel sorry for him. That's the biggest disservice you can pay him."

"Why?" I ask.

She purses her lips and then changes the subject. This conversation is closed. "Why don't you go unpack a little? I'll make dinner and then maybe we can play some duets."

My two furballs are still wrestling in my lap and there is yowling as I move them. Althea's tiny claws dig into my hand. This seems reasonable. I nod to a few pictures are leaning up against the wall. "I can hang those up too."

"Do you have a hammer?"

"No, but Dimitri might."

I want an excuse to see him.

"You could call down and have an Avox do it?"

"Do people in the districts have them?"

My grandmother shakes her head. "They can't afford it."

"Well, the theme here is I'm supposed to be different," I say. "I am not like my mother."

She chuckles, "Well, I suppose you aren't, but most people don't like to clean house."

"I can do it," I say. "I'm perfectly capable. How hard can it be to hammer a nail into a wall?"

My grandmother is chopping an onion and my eyes are watering just standing near her.

I would be lying if I said that I am confident in being able to run my own household. I've grown up with Avoxes all my life, but Graham has made me feel guilty of having such luxuries. He never came out and said it. Well, this would be a start.

I ring Dimitri's doorbell. "It's open," he yells.

"Hi it's me," I call back as I open the door.

"Hi, 'me'. Come in."

I walk through his foyer and into his living room. Dimitri is sprawled out on his black leather couch watching television. A couple of empty bottles of beers sit on the coffee table along side a gun. He has one hand behind his head. An empty plate lies on the inn table.

He smiles sleepily. "Wasn't expecting you to take me up on my offer so soon, lonely?"

"You keep your door unlocked?"

"When I'm home. No one's going to come up here and rob me. There's too many stairs. You want a beer or some wine?"

He looks so comfortable, I hate make him move. "No thank you. What are you watching?" I nod towards the muted television.

"Some stupid movie. "Pandora and the Hooker" or some stupid shit like that. It's supposed to be funny. I don't know, I watch too many of them. It's how I spend my spare time. Have you seen this one?" He takes a swig of beer from a half-empty bottle. He's slightly drunk. "You can sit down. I don't bite, unless you're into that sort of thing."

"No, I haven't," I hesitate. "I don't normally watch television."

He adjusts his position on the couch. "So what do you do in your spare time?"

"I practice piano. I study. I help my grandmother in her garden. I used to spend time with Graham."

"You sound a little bitter about that last one."

I shrug. "No, I just realized what a waste of time it was, that's all."

"People are a waste of time, yeah, I'll give you that." He took another long drink of his beer. "I spend most of my time alone watching shitty movies."

"Is that one of your hobbies?"

"I guess I'm a bit jaded sometimes." He chuckles "Sometimes I go shooting. I like to run and go to the gym and lift weights. I have some here in what I guess is my 'spare bedroom.' It makes me feel alive. You know, the burn of your lungs and muscles as you lift and run."

"I'm not very athletic," I say.

"Damn, I was looking for a running partner." His eyes meet mine and I pull mine away.

I turn my attention to the movie. Two women are arguing soundlessly on the television. They are dyed different colors and wearing outrageous clothing. One has a bird tattooed on the side of her face.

"Sometimes I wonder what it's like to only worry about who's wearing the same shoes as you. Or who's wearing the same dress as you at a party?" He muses.

"Probably something similar to that," I gesture to the two women on the television. The one with the tattoo on her face has thrown a drink on the other's dress. "I don't think those who worry about such things have very great lives."

"I'm too drunk for this movie," Dimitri grumbles. "You sure I can't get you a beer or something?"

"Do you have a hammer?"

He raises his eyebrow. "A hammer? Like the drink?"

"There's a drink?"

"Yeah. I think it has coconut rum, peach schnapps, and 7up. I think I have the things to make it." He sits up. "You know for a Capitol girl you sure naïve about alcohol."

"No, no, no, the tool the hammer. The one you hit things with," I interrupt.

"I love how my mind goes straight to alcohol now. Before you know it, I'll be like Haymitch." He rubs his forehead. "What do you need a hammer for?"

"I'm hanging pictures."

"You mean your Avox is hanging pictures," He corrects.

"No," I say firmly. "_I_ am."

Dimitri stretches and yawns. "I might have one lying around."

"May I use it?"

"Do you need a stud finder too?"

"I don't know what that is. Is that a drink too?"

He stands up and stretches. His fit ab muscles peek out from under his black t-shirt. Then he chuckles. "No, it's a tool. It helps you find where the wooden frames are located. If you don't nail your nail into the stud you risk the nail being unable to hold the picture. And that could be bad for both your picture and your wall. Do you have nails?"

My face begins to burn. This idea to hang pictures isn't working out too well. I completely forgot about the nails in my zealous appeal to be independent. If Dimitri has any idea that I have no idea what I'm doing, he's not giving any clues.

"I'll bring them over anyway," he says. I follow him to the closet in the foyer. He opens the door and pulls out a toolbox. After a few minutes, he has gathered all I need.

"I can do it," I insist. "Just show me how the stud finder works."

He pulls out the small yellow tool. It is about the size of his hand and has a button in the center. "To turn it on, you push button. Then you run it over the wall. When the light turn green, you've found a stud. That's where you want to put your nail."

"Sounds easy enough." It's like picking a guy up at a bar. I can do this. When the light turns green it means you found a dude.

"Famous last words," he says giving me the tools. The hammer is heavy and I almost drop it. "Since I'm your mentor, I should come supervise."

"Just because I'm from the Capitol doesn't mean I'm helpless."

Dimitri does three snaps in a z formation. "Oh, well, excuse me."

"I'll bring it back when I'm done." I hold up the hammer and stud finder.

A/n: So things are starting to heat up a little. It'll be better when the Games actually start. Right now I feel like I'm at an in between stage. I do think I am going to keep it in Carmen's point of view.

Thanks for reading. Please review!


	11. Chapter 11

I do not own the Hunger Games, but this story and the original characters are mine. This story will stay in Carmen's point of view. It's too hard to keep who knows what straight with two people.

Chapter 11

On my door is a note from my grandmother. She left to buy carrots and celery, and so it is just my furballs and I for the time being. I breathe deeply to try to relieve my anxiety. My two furballs are playing on the couch. There are a few pictures leaning against the wall behind the piano. One painting is of the ocean. That would look great on the wall behind my piano. I set the tools, careful not to spill the nails.

After a few minutes of rummaging around, I find a small ladder in my coat closet. I drag it awkwardly towards the wall and open it. I gather my tools and put them on the top of the ladder. Then I use the stud finder like Dimitri showed me. A few moments later after I drag it across my wall, I find a stud. After what Dimitri told me about what could happen to the painting, I am nervous of missing the stud and so I climb down from my perch. There is a pen lying on the counter. I grab it and go back on my ladder. I mark the spot. Carefully, I center my nail in the middle of the X.

The first two taps make the nail slide a little. I adjust my grip on the nail. Maybe I'm not hitting it hard enough. I put a little more power behind the hammer. The hammer slips off the nail head and on to my thumb.

"SHIT!" I yell, clutching my thumb. The hammer falls to the floor with a loud bang and the box of nails falls off the top step of the ladder and all over the floor.

I stumble down the ladder, clutching my thumb.

"GODDAMMIT MOTHER…!" Tears spring to my eyes. "AUUUUGGGGHHH!"

"Hammer got your thumb?" Dimitri smirks, leaning in the doorway. He crosses his arms across his chest. In that pose he looks attractive.

"Very punny," I say through gritted teeth.

"You've never touched a hammer in your life," He says.

"I don't need your help." My thumb is throbbing and part of me prays that it's not broken. "It just needs to stop throbbing and then I can…"

Dmitri takes my wrist. "Let me see it."

"No." I try to pull away from him, but he holds fast. My eyes meet his. There is no malice in them. His eyes are dark brown. He must have taken out his colored contacts. Nothing is safe from alterations in the Capitol. We all hide behind some sort of mask.

"Let me see. Please." His voice is soft, yet firm. "Carmen."

The way he says my name gives me chills. Reluctantly I uncurl my other hand from my thumb. It doesn't seem swollen, but there is a growing patch of blood underneath my nail. He looks it over. "Can you bend it?"

"I think it's broken?" I say. Tears are streaming down my face. My first stroke of bad luck was becoming a Gamemaker and now this.

"Just try."

With excruciating pain, I am able to bend it.

He leads me over to the couch. "Wait here."

My kittens have tired themselves out by playing and sleep in a pile on the couch. Dimitri comes back a few minutes later holding a shot glass with a clear liquid in it. Alcohol seems to be his answer for everything. "Put your thumb in this. It'll take away the swelling and reduce the chances of you having a black nail.

"What is it?" I ask as I put my thumb in the foul-smelling liquid. "Vodka?"

"Vinegar. Vodka tastes decent when you drink it. Vinegar tastes like someone took a piss in your mouth."

"Thank you," I say. I feel guilty for being cross to him earlier. "The odds are not in my favor."

He sits next to me and rubs my shoulder affectionately. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, the odds have not been in my favor for the last eight years."

"You survived," I say. "That has to count for something."

He runs a hand through his curly red hair. I want to touch it to feel its silky texture in between my fingers. I wonder if it's really soft or if he uses the chemicals to make it look like that. "Yeah, but at what price?" He opens his mouth then closes it again. "Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it."

The pain is beginning to subside. And I am able to move my thumb inside the shot glass. We sit there in silence until Dimitri reaches over and flips on the television. "The movie was starting to be interesting," he explains. "Unless you want me to hang those pictures…"

"I can do it," I insist.

Chuckling, Dimitri reaches over and pets Oliver. "That seems to be your answer for everything, Capitol girl."

"Do I look like helpless to you?"

He sidesteps the question, by changing the subject. "I see you have kittens. They're cute."

"To keep me company," I say.

"Have you looked at the tributes yet?"

"No, I haven't been home. I really don't know what to look for. Have you?"

"No, I don't really look at them until the day they show us their strengths and then the interviews with Caesar. The Opening Ceremonies are more for the stylists than for us. It's the "Who's Who." He shrugs. "I mean, you can look at their postures, eyes, facial expressions etcetera. Really, it's just a big party for everyone except for the tributes."

"The mentors come too?"

He nods. "It's their time to gather sponsors, based on their tributes first impressions. You always have some of the same people who support certain districts every year. For example, Finnick Odair always gathers certain sponsors because of who he is."

"They probably call in favors too," I say. "Victors seem to have a lot of sway in the Capitol."

Althea seems to have gotten jealous of the attention Oliver is getting and she tries to crawl into Dimitri's lap. I scoop her up and put her in mine.

Dimitri hesitates. "That can be…dangerous. As a mentor, you can get in roped in to certain circles… Some people call it whoring."

"But it happens?"

"Oh yeah, it happens. I would bet money that Finnick Odair whores himself if he believes one of his tributes has a chance. I never did it. It's better to let a tribute earn their sponsors on their own merit." He licks his lips. Oliver attacks his hand and chews on his finger. Dimitri seems not to notice. "The Capitol… is a dangerous place when you're a victor."

"How so?"

Dimitri grips my shoulder tightly. "Promise me you'll stay away from the mentors. Do not allow them to try to sell you their tributes."

"But I'm a Gamemaker, I don't understand…"

He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. You're Vivian and Hugo's daughter. If they even think they have a chance of influencing you in their favor, they will. Since you've never done this, they'll think you don't know any better."

I am insulted that he thinks that I am unable to take care of myself, but I know he's right. At least about this. I have no idea what to expect. "They'll think I'm like my mother."

"Not necessarily. They know that you've spent a fair amount of time with your grandmother, who is a victor in the 14th Games and from District 8." His grip relaxes on my shoulder, "But your mother has spent a fair amount of time in different… Victors' company. Basically, you're fucked either way."

"Great. Are you going to the party?"

"At Snow's mansion after the Opening Ceremonies? Yeah, are you?"

"Do I have much of a choice?"

"Well, considering that your mother is one of his favorites, it would probably be a bad move not to go. Everyone's watching you. These Games have a potential… of being… different."

He slouches in my couch and picks up flips through the different channels through the television. "When the Games are in session, you can watch your favorite tributes on the different cameras." The arena comes into view. Right now we are in the forest and it is dark. Through night vision on the cameras, the trackerjacker's nest swings lightly in the breeze.

Dimitri shows me how to select the different channels and even track the tributes. "Consider this an all access pass."

"What happens when they die?"

"Game over," he chuckles. "Do not pass go or collect two hundred dollars."

I glare at him.

"The camera's that follow them go dark and their picture show." He nods to my thumb. "How's it feeling?"

"Better, thank you."

He focuses his attention on the television. His arm is still draped over my shoulder. "So, who's your date? Is it that Graham guy again?"

"Why are you warning me about tomorrow?" I ask. I wonder if my mother has put him up to it.

His eyes lock with mine. "When you are picked for the Games you are given a mentor whose job it is to keep you alive. They provide you with the necessary training in for the interviews, how to impress the Gamemakers and survive in the arena." He cups my face in his hand. His lips are inches from mine. I can smell the mixture of alcohol on his breath and his cologne. "Sweetheart, they will eat you alive."

Before I can answer Dimitri pulls away and removes my thumb from the shot glass and sets it on the table. He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and dries it.

"Now, it'll stink," I say. "But—"

"Vinegar never hurt anyone," He says quietly. "In fact, our ancestors used to use it as a cleaning agent."

"You seem to know a lot about the country before Pandem," I say.

Dimitri gives me a half smile. "I had a…friend whose passion was the old days; mostly the odd trivia."

"My grandmother and I are having dinner tonight. We don't have any carrots; she went out to get some. I was supposed to be unpacking, and instead I bash my thumb in with a hammer." I am rambling.

"I'm back," my grandmother calls. She is carrying a bag of vegetables. "Carmen, are you here?"

"I'm here." I call.

"It happens to best of us," Dimitri chuckles. He removes a playful kitten from his lap.

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" I ask.

"No, you should…. Enjoy your free time before the Games start. Just don't try to break any more of your fingers and bring back my hammer when you're done." He stands and nods to my grandmother. "Nice seeing you again."

"Could you give me a ride to the party and back tomorrow? I don't really want to drive, and since you are my mentor and I don't recall you telling me you had a date."

An impish grin plays around the corner of his mouth. "You never asked."

"Well do you?" I put my hand on my hip.

He blushes. "I'll pick you up at five-thirty."

"No garish makeup."

"Fine." He rolls his eyes and opens the door to leave. I'm surprised at how willing he is to forgo the garish white mask. Then he stops. "Someone has to keep you out of trouble." He exchanges glances with my grandmother, then he closes the door firmly behind him. His touch lingers on my cheek. I don't know if I can trust him, but I don't have much choice. I wonder if this is how the tributes feel when they are thrust into a mentor's care.

Please Review!

Copyright Finding Tobias 2012


	12. Chapter 12

**The Document manager was giving me trouble and I unknowing uploaded and posted the wrong version. Here's the right one.**

I do not own the Hunger Games, but this story and the original characters are mine.

**Chapter 12**

The evening of the Opening Ceremonies has finally arrived and I have been scrubbed down and beautified for the event. Not one hair is out of place. No matter what magic my stylists and prep team can create, they can not rid my stomach of its nerves. Regan stands back and admires her handiwork. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks." I look at myself in the mirror. I hardly recognize the person staring back at me. The doorbell rings. Dimitri. I take a deep breath and steal myself for the evening. An evening of unknowns; I've never done well with unknowns. I open the door. Dimitri stands there with his hands in his navy blue blazer which looks like it's made out of the same material as my dress. The cuffs and collar are black. Underneath he wears a black shirt and tie. His hair is loose around his shoulders.

"We match." These are the first words that tumble of my mouth.

"Well, hello to you too," he chuckles dryly.

I glance back at my stylist. She looks at me and just shrugs. I have stopped believing in things being coincidental.

"Great minds think alike," He smiles and I notice that his scars are less visible. In fact, I can hardly see them.

"You look nice," I say. I touch a tendril of his hair. It slips through my fingers, like silk. "The jacket looks nice with your hair."

"Thank you. My hair is completely natural, curls and all." he says. "Your dress looks nice with your skin. It's very…chic. Shall we go, or shall we stand here and continue to complement each other on how nice we look?"

"I am hungry," I admit.

"Well, good. I'm sure they'll have lots of food. Snow always does," I notice the rasp is back in his voice. Excess is one of the trademarks of the Capitol. My stylist and prep team leave quickly to primp and prep for their party. Dimitri offers me his arm and I take it.

We make our way down the hallway. The other Gamemakers on my floor are leaving as well. Contessa is leaving her apartment with two young men who look to be my age, maybe a little younger. They are both dark haired and look like twins. They join us at the elevator. Contessa's dress is one of the ugliest dresses I have ever seen. I wonder who her stylist is. Her dress has a halter top and looks to be made out of leather that has been dyed a light purple. The skirt is short and ruffled in the front and in the back, it is a long train. To complement this ensemble, she wears white go-go boots.

Contessa eyes Dimitri and I suspiciously. "If you needed a date Carmen, you should have asked me. I would have found you a more suitable…victor to go with."

Dimitri bristles a bit. I open my mouth to retort, but Dimitri yanks on my arm to keep me quiet. The elevator doors open and the five of us step on.

"Floor?" Dimitri asks.

"Ground floor. My driver is picking us up at the front door. Surely you aren't making her walk in those shoes?" Contessa says.

Dimitri rolls his eyes and presses the button for parking. "I hope she was smart enough to wear comfortable shoes."

He mimes sticking his index finger down his throat and gagging. You never realize how awkward it is to ride in an elevator several floors with someone who is playing hockey tonsil another with another person until it actually happens. Dimitri keeps his gaze on me the entire time as we attempt to ignore what's happening on the other side of the elevator. Occasionally, the elevator stops to let on more people. As more people get on, I am forced to be closer to him. I met his eyes and try to figure out what's going on behind those brown eyes.

Finally, we reach the ground floor. Some of the people get off. No one comments on Dimitri and I. Maybe they don't recognize us, but they could also be doing what people from the Capitol do best: be self absorbed. Half of the people filter out. Contessa blows us a kiss. Dimitri rolls his eyes and sighs. To lighten his mood, I say "At least there will be other people and we won't have to talk to her."

I keep hold of Dimitri's arm as we step out of the elevator. The parking garage is almost empty. "Everyone's gone already," I say.

"Snow's not the only one throwing a party," Dimitri says. "We might crash a couple of those if you don't mind."

We. Us. He speaks about him and me as if we are a team. I guess we are, in a helps me into the passenger side of his car and makes sure that my dress fits. Graham would never look after me like that. It was either 'I' or 'you.' Let's have sex. You owe me because you're from the Capitol.

There is that lingering feeling of guilt about Graham. It's not his fault by the way he reacted. I am a part of something that he so strongly hates; something that took a member of his family. I hate the Games too, in a way. It took my grandmother. There are certain parts of my grandmother that I will never know because the Games stole that part of her. I see it as a thing that has instilled strong sense of paranoia in both her and in me. It also took my mother away. She could not be my mother because she was wrapped up with the Games year-round. I am not that naïve to believe that this is a simple form of entertainment. Only now, I'm starting to see their toll on all of us.

Graham and I are still a couple, but I know that I cannot expose him to this intimate aspect of the Games. It would break him. I do love him, but I belong to the Games now. It runs in my blood. It seems heartless, this abrupt end, to our otherwise healthy relationship. I don't deserve to be apart of his life, especially since now I am apart of something that killed his brother. It's now a matter of going through the formalities to end it. The 'I can't do this anymore,' and 'it's not you, it's me.'

When I was younger, my sister and I lived with my grandmother in District 8 during the summer. I know of the starvation of which Graham speaks of in District 3. I saw it first hand in District 8, but I don't dare tell anyone those memories or about my sister. My sister. There is a pang in my heart and I push it away. I shouldn't let depressing thoughts ruin this night, though I do wish she were here.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Dimitri asks, jolting me out of my thoughts. "You look sad."

I shake my head. "I'm fine. I was just thinking."

"You wanna tell me?"

My sister's death is something of a taboo subject in my family. Over the years, she has been erased. My mother has had the surgery where they use trackerjacker venom to erase the memories. When a person dies, people in the Capitol forget they ever existed. They erase them completely. They can't handle pain.

I don't know what to tell Dimitri. I don't trust him enough to tell him about my dead sister, and telling him I wish he were Graham seems cruel and, also is untrue. Graham and I have a strange relationship because of who I am. It's never been an open one and I always seem to be hiding something from someone. I don't expect the one with Dimitri to be much different.

"It's nothing."

"Well, if you change your mind…" He gives me a half smile and reaches over and squeezes my hand. I resist the urge to snatch my hand away. "I know how to keep a secret."

"Why did you agree to be my mentor?"

"Well, I couldn't let _them_ have you, now could I?"

I want to ask who 'them' refers to, but I know better. Too many questions about who's doing what and it could get you killed. We've had friends that have mysteriously disappeared without a trace.

"Is… is this mentoring thing hard for you?" I ask.

"Yes and no. It's easier in the fact that I don't get to watch you die at the hands of your peers, but also it's hard because I can't protect you from everything."

"I don't expect you to," I say. I look out the window. Brightly colored buildings fly by.

"We should talk about something more…happy. It's the Hunger Games."

"What did you think of Contessa's dress?"

"I think she needs to fire her stylist." He licks his lips. "So tell me about yourself. I can't properly mentor you if I know nothing about you."

I take a deep breath. "There's nothing to know really. I'm Vivian and Hugo's only daughter and Jettie Hyde's, the victor of the 14th Hunger Games, granddaughter."

"Stop hiding behind the names of your parents. That doesn't matter now. You are Carmen Hyde, Gamemaker."

"It's all about titles in the Capitol." I say. We've hit a snag of traffic. It looks backed up for miles. There is no way I will be able to escape this conversation. Individually, we try to distinguish ourselves by what we look like on the outside. The inside doesn't matter as much.

"No, no, no. Fuck the Capitol," Dimitri interrupts. "Who are you? What is your biggest aspiration? Who do you most admire? What's your favorite color? Come on, give me something to work with. Show me that you have more to you than just a pretty face and nice ass."

"My favorite color is blue," I blurt out, blushing/

"That's a start."

"I want to be a pianist."

"Well, you're certainly on the wrong career path," Dimitri says sardonically. "Mother doesn't want it?"

The traffic had come to a dead stop. People are trying to get good seats for the parade of the tributes. I don't answer him right away.

"We could be here a while," Dimitri says.

"I spent my summers in District 8 with my grandmother until I was sixteen. I was sent there the day after the reapings and stayed until September. I was busy with other things, like learning how to cook, bake, sew, and play the piano. I also worked in the textile factory a few days a week because my grandmother wanted us to know what it was like to work for your food. I will never forget."

Dimitri says nothing and fiddles with various dials. Cool air fills the cabin. Unable to stand the silence, I break it. "What's your favorite color?"

"Green," He says. "My biggest aspiration is to stay alive and in one piece for the rest of my life."

"Fair enough," I say.

"Tell me about your family." He puts the car into park.

"But—"

"Just do it."

I take another deep breath. "I haven't seen my father in over four years. It makes me wonder if he's dead. I was raised mostly by my grandmother." Telling him this is hard and it hurts. I struggle to read the expression on his face. He stares straight ahead and says nothing and keeps his face completely blank.

"You have abandonment issues, can't say that I'm completely surprised." His eyes lock on mine. They are filled with pity. "That seems to be a common theme here in the Capitol, but at least you have your grandmother. It doesn't replace having a mom or dad though."

"What about you? What's your family like?"

"They're dead." He smiles sadly. "But don't let that get you down. You should enjoy tonight."

Traffic surrounds us and I can see that the Capitol has not disappointed in turning out the oddly bizarre outfits. "Where are you from?"

He continues. "I'm from District 5, better known as the Power district. We're responsible for keeping the lights on in the Capitol, factories and other important places. We harness the wind, sun, and water for Capitol use."

"How did you harness the wind?"

"Wind turbines. We had a hundred square mile field filled with them. A couple of hundred miles away, we had a dammed lake that provided power. Then at the end of the day, we'd pump it all back and start all over."

"Solar panels?"

He nods. "We had a large field of those too, and we were allotted a certain amount on our house to provide power for us. I worked on the wind turbines. I was actually the head of my group before I was reaped." He stares dreamily.

"So you're good with your hands?" I realize what I implying a little too late. I clap a hand over my mouth and feel the heat in my face. I fan myself and look out the window. We have started moving now.

"Well, I haven't had any complaints." Dimitri laughs and his eyes sparkle mischievously. "Thanks for asking."

I blush madly. "I didn't mean it like that!"

"You know, for a Capitol girl, you've got a pretty dirty mind. I like it." He smirks.

There's no use arguing with him about it. "I'm pretty sure my mind is tame compared to some people."

We finally arrive at President Snow's mansion. There is a line of cars that stretch around the circle, and a constant sea of valet Avoxes who are parking the cars. Despite the awkward conversation Dimitri and I have had on this ride to the President's mansion, I am sorry for it to be over. A male Avox opens the door and helps me out of the car. Together Dimitri and I enter President Snow's mansion.

"Don't forget to smile," he whispers.

I nod and tightly clutch his arm as we climb the marble stairs to the entrance. There are two large sweeping staircases in the foyer. Draped over the staircases are red and silver silk banners. Many bouquets of roses are scattered around the foyer. We are escorted into a lavish dining room where the Capitol's most important individuals sit at tables eating. There are two empty seats at a table with Lupe, Elmo, Sixten, Elina and their respective significant others. They already have plates in front of them piled high with rich foods.

"You look lovely," Sixten says.

"Thank you."

Dimitri pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit down. "Traffic was bad so we're a little late."

"Look at you, turning him into a gentleman," Elmo says. He winks at me. "I'm sure there's still plenty of food. Your protégé won't starve."

Dimitri blushes. As much as Dimitri many deny wanting to be my mentor in front of the other Gamemakers at yesterday's meeting, I secretly believe he's lying. His attitude has changed from glowering victor with a 'trust no one' attitude to almost charming.

Elmo flags down a waiter. "They'd like some wine. Pink, red or white?"

"Red," I say.

"We'll take the cabernet sauvignon," Dimitri answers.

"It's a buffet," Elmo says, "Help yourselves. President Snow has already spoken, but it's the same thing he says every year." He pushes his half empty plate away from him. An Avox brings our wine.

"Cheers," Dimitri says. We clink glasses. He keeps his gaze on me as we drink.

I follow him to the tables. They are absolutely loaded with different kinds of foods; different kinds of cheeses, salads, soups, meats, fish, and other delicacies that I have never seen. I don't know where to start. I want to taste it all, but I know there will be no way. Dimitri helps himself to a large steak, smashed potatoes with garlic, and broccoli. He's not impressed by what the Capitol has to offer. He can see through the glitz and glitter. For that, I admire him. He also helps himself to a small bowl of soup.

I spoon a small amount of rice on my plate. I choose a small groosoing breast that has been marinated in garlic, rosemary, thyme, and sage and put it on my plate. The juice from the groosling drips onto the rice. I put extra juice on my rice. Next, I move to the bread table and put a warm rosemary roll on my plate. A small salad with mixed greens and a light dressing and I have filled my plate to the brim. Already, I see that the wine and food have been flowing freely. Many Capitol residents have already taken advantage of the liquid that makes them vomit the food and drink they've been eating. It's a waste.

A hand touches my shoulder and I almost drop my plate. I need to stop being so jumpy. It's my mother's friend, Adamaris. She looks stunning in her plum colored evening gown and plum eye makeup to match. "Hello, darling. I saw you come in with a ravishing young man."

"Yes, that's my… date."

"That red hair. I love his curls."

"It's completely natural."

She covers her mouth in shock. "You don't say! You have to tell me everything about him! Where did you meet?"

"He found me," I say. I should tell her that we're not an item, he's my mentor and that I'm with someone named Graham, but I don't. Instead, I play along with this charade.

"Well, I'll let you get back to your friends. Adamaris touches my shoulder. "Congratulations on your appointment."

This food on my plate is quite possibly the best food that I've ever eaten. I go back for seconds and try something completely different. I have three different bowls of soup in front of me. Dimitri is on his fourth plate of food, probably at least his third steak. He hasn't taken advantage of the clear liquid.

"Careful," I tease "Your button may pop off your pants if you aren't careful."

He took a long draft of beer. "Fuck buttons. Have you tried this beer?" Dimitri hands me his beer stein.

A woman in a pink wig sits down at our table. I recognize her as the bubbly escort from District 12. I wonder where Haymitch Abernarthy is. I don't have to wonder long. He comes lumbering across the room, wasted and bumps into our table. A couple of the other Gamemakers snort in disgust. Even Effie looks grossed out. Several of the other Gamemakers move and so it is just the four of us.

"Easy, Haymitch," Dimtri says.

"Hello, Dimitri," Haymitch slurs. "Is the Capitol treating you well?"

He shrugs. "Some years are better than others. What's on your mind, Haymitch?"

"My tributes. I have a pair of fighters this year, as opposed to previous." He looks around suspiciously. "It looks like the mockingjay may fly this year."

Dimitri's eyes widen. "The mockingjay hasn't attempted to fly since the 69th Games. The trackerjackers are vicious are this year."

"You don't think the Lord of the Flies has been active?" Haymitch smirks.

"I've folded lots of origami cranes this year, and not one of them has caught fire." Dimitri answers.

I don't understand what they're talking about. It takes me a minute to realize that they are talking in code.

His eyes narrow at me, finally recognizing my existence. "I don't recognize you, girl."

"She's my protégé, Haymitch," Dimitri says carefully. "She's Vivian's daughter, Carmen."

Before Haymitch can ask any more questions the lights darken, the music stops and screens appear from the ceilings. The anthem plays and we are transported to where the tributes will be paraded around the circle and then end up in front of Snow's mansion.

District 1 comes first. The crowd goes wild. The two tributes are dressed in gold silk with diamonds and other precious stones that are sewn into the fabric. As the crowd oohs and ahhs, the cameras cut to the next pair of tributes. District 3, Graham's district is next. They are dressed in a silver metallic material that have computer chips sewn into the fabric, making their outfit look like it has little spots of mold. Somewhere between Districts 2 and 4, Dimitri's arm slips around my shoulders

Dimitri groans when District 5 rides around in their chariot. Their stylists had dressed them as high voltage power lines. Their headdresses look top heavy and if the hourses threaten to turn any curves to fast they threaten to fall out of the chariot. Districts 6 through 11 seem to be pretty standard. Seven's tributes are dressed as pine trees. They either look terrified or they're attempt to look tough and intimidating. That seems to be Thresh from District 11's plan. He's doing a pretty convincing job.

Haymitch and Dimitri have stopped talking. Dimitri leans in and whispers my ear. "I hope you're paying attention. There will be a quiz tomorrow."

District 12 comes into view. My mouth drops and the crowd gasps. Flames flicker around the perimeter of their bodies. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark ride like they are royalty and the Capitol are their subjects. They seem to not be intimidated by the screaming crowd. Her name is being chanted and someone throws her a rose. She smells it and then blows the crowd a kiss. This makes them go wild.

"Fire is catching," Haymitch says, rubbing his hands together.

Dimitri stares at him. "Only if the spark is strong enough. It needs to be fed."

The tributes have made it to the circle in front of Snow's mansion, and it cuts away from them to President Snow.

"Do you know why the caged mockingjay finally sings?" Dimitri whispers in my ear.

"No." I turn to face him. His lips are inches away from mine. I find myself staring at them. I wonder what they would feel like on mine. "Are you…"

He kisses me, catching me off guard. "Will you trust me?"

**A/n: Sorry about the confusion. I didn't realize it until I went to start writing chapter 13. **


	13. Chapter 13

I do not own the Hunger Games, but this story and the original characters are mine.

**Note: If you haven't already, please go reread Chapter 12. I uploaded the wrong version. The correct one is now up.**

**Chapter 13**

The last three days have comprised of me watching recaps of the reapings and opening ceremonies, trying to get to know my tributes, and playing the piano at weird intervals. I've also been trying to forget Dimitri's lips on mine. I have also taken advantage of watching them train on my television, though Dimitri has told me not to bother. "They don't pull out their bag of tricks until they are alone with the Gamemakers in their private sessions."

I have a notebook filled with possible advantages and disadvantages that tributes have. For example, Rue from District 11 has a small stature. She is at a disadvantage if she were to engage in hand to hand combat with one of the tributes such as one of the Careers from 1, 2, or 4. Dimitri hasn't been much help in guiding me as to what I'm looking for. I've only seen him briefly in the past three days. In fact, he seems to be keeping his distance. Maybe he's… I shake my head. "Stop over thinking this. He probably had too much to drink and is feeling guilty," I say aloud. "Or weird." He probably has a couple of girls on the side that he sleeps with on a weekly basis.

The clock reads ten-fifteen. I have to report to the training center by eleven. My copies of the tributes' stats are spread out all over the floor. My living room is a sea of papers and notes in which my kittens are having fun making a larger mess. Cato from District 2 is crumpled thanks to Oliver. Though he has seemed to have moved on and now has the hots for the District 1 tribute Glimmer. Althena sleeps peacefully on Peeta Mellark's face. I think if he was not so terribly young and being sent to die, I might find him attractive.

I give up stopping the two furballs from mangling the tributes. My doorbell rings and of course I'm wearing my pajamas. It's Dimitri. He has a long purple robe slung over his shoulder that matches the one he wears. It has the crest of the Capitol on the right breast.

"Hi." I say. This is embarrassing. I haven't even brushed my teeth my teeth yet. I assume this is what a drunk one-night stand feels like. The awkwardness of what you did under the influence of alcohol.

"May I come in?" The scary clown that I met several days ago is back. His face is painted white, with dark circles painted around his eyes. A garish red smile accents the scars around his mouth. Clearly, my influence was short-lived.

"I brought you the robe, you're supposed to wear. I meant to bring it over earlier…" his voice trails off. He hands me the purple robe. It is in plastic, fresh from the cleaners. He clears his throat. Dimitri seems odd of sorts. "But a couple of things… came up. I also brought you a bullet proof vest. I want you to wear it today."

"But—"

"You never know what can happen." He shoves past me. His breath reeks of alcohol.

"I see you've been… studying." He gestures to the strewn papers.

"Yeah, the kittens were trying to help," I say. "Oliver likes to knock over all of my stacks."

Dimitri drapes the robe and vest across the back of a chair and goes to explore the scattered papers. My notebook lies open on the coffee table. "Pop quiz. What do you remember from the other night?"

"You kissed me." I say. I sit next to him on the couch, our knees touch. He makes no move to put his arm around me or even notice that we are touching.

"Wrong. Five points off of your final score."

"But you did."

"It's great to know where your priorities lie," he snorts.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I retort. Clearly, I mean nothing to him and that hurts. Something is wrong. Even though I've known him for a short time, this is not how he would react.

"I'm not talking about what either you or I did the other night, or how much we had to drink. What do you remember about the other night?"

"Mockingjays."

Dimitri wrestles poor Cato away from Oliver and holds up the mangled pages. "Why are we here? This isn't a trick question."

Suddenly I understand what he's asking. "The tributes," I breathe.

"Yes." He picks up my notes. "Who stood out the most to you?"

"District 12," I say.

"Which tribute?"

"They both did." I pause. "They were on fire."

Dimitri purses his lips, clearly annoyed with my answer. "I need more. What stood out to…"

"Katniss smiled and blew kisses at the audience," I interrupt.

"So, she made the audience her bitch. Good, now we're getting somewhere. What did you notice about their hands?"

I struggle to remember even though I have watched the opening ceremonies multiple times. All the others tributes had hung onto the front of the chariot with both hands. Katniss was waving with her right hand then where was her left hand? Peeta only had one hand free too. The other was at his side. "Holding each other," I answer. "They were holding hands, none of the other tributes were. That means there must be a prearranged alliance."

"Good girl."

"The boy's a baker and the girl hunts using a bow outside the borders of District 12 to gather food for her family and other residents. She trades at the Hob. She sacrificed herself for her sister."

He waves his hand. "That last bit means nothing. It only means she's human and can play to the Capitol's soft side."

"But can't the Gamemakers use that as an advantage?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Not in these Games. We don't even know if she'll make it through."

I look back at my notes. "Previous history between her and Peeta: He gave her a burnt loaf of bread because her family was starving."

"So we have resentment," Dimitri muses.

"Maybe she'll protect him in the arena."

"Doubtful. She traded spots with her sister. Tell me about District—"

"She will," I insist. "If they're anything like the people of District 8, they hate being in debt to another person."

He licks his lips, and leans closer. "When you're in the arena, all of your humanity disappears. It's kill or be killed. There's no room for—"

"You've never owed someone for your life have you?" I'm treading into dangerous territory.

"You have no idea what I've done. That only goes so far when your own life is at stake," Dimitri sneers. "Go get dressed. We'll be late."

"You're wrong," I say.

He snorts. "You're naïve little girl. You have a lot to learn about humanity and how terrible we really are."

"Maybe she loves him."

"Or maybe she loves her cousin Gale," Dimitri replies. "They go hunting together every day. Did you miss that part?"

"On May 15th, they saw a hovercraft beam up two people, one was later killed and the other was made an Avox. Her name is Lavinia." I reply. "No, I didn't."

"Now, you're just showing off."

Now I know something is very, very wrong. His eyes are dilated larger than they should be in this light.

"You're not looking forward to this, are you?" I ask. This has to bring back some memories.

"Can you just get ready, so we can go?"

I get up from the couch to go take my shower. About half-way there, I turn around. "Oh, and for the record, it's ironic that Lavinia was made an Avox. There is a Shakespeare play called _Titus Andonicus_ that is set in ancient Rome. The character Lavinia is Titus' daughter. Her lover is killed and then she is raped by Demetrius and Chiron, two sons of a family who swear revenge on Titus. After she is raped her tongue and hands are cut off so she is unable to tell her father who did it. She tells him by writing the words in the sand by putting a stick in her mouth and wrapping her two stumps around it. The human race has been cruel to each other for ages. The Hunger Games are nothing new."

"Then what happens?" Dimitri asks, sarcastically. "They catch the killers and everyone lives happily ever after? They sew her tongue back."

"No, the same thing that happens in every tragedy; everyone dies."

I close the door to my bedroom and then go take a shower. I am flustered by Dimitri's presence in my living room. So flustered that I hit a couple of wrong buttons and end up giving myself a too hot shower and manly smelling bodywash. I brush my teeth and quickly decide on something to wear. It doesn't really matter, considering that I am wearing a robe over my clothes. I put on a short-sleeve shirt and brown pants with knee high boots. I quickly braid my hair into a single braid.

Dimitri checks his watch. "About time."

"Shut up," I say. "I didn't take that long."

He helps me into my bullet proof vest, and the robe. It's a little big. The sleeves go past my fingertips and the hem drags on the floor. "Hm… Maybe I gave you the wrong one."

He unzips his robe. I notice that he too, is wearing a bulletproof vest. "Old habits die hard," he says. He helps me into the other. This one fits better. I don't look like I am drowning in purple fabric.

"I wouldn't worry about looking pretty. We all look like purple grapes in these things."

I pick up my notebook, pocketbook, and follow him out the door. On the way to the training center, he quizzes me about the other tributes, but my mind is still on Katniss Everdeen and why she and her fellow tribute, and possible enemy were holding hands.

"A little less than half of these tributes will make it past the bloodbath," Dimitri explains. "Today will pretty much tell who those tributes are. Though we've had a few that have scored low and then completely surprised us. Johanna Mason, for example, scored extremely low, went into the arena and turned into a killing machine."

"Do you think that'll be any tributes' route to success this year?"

He shrugs as we fly down the long tunnel in his car. "Don't know. The tributes seem to have a lot of pride this year, so I doubt it."

"What about Rue?"

"She's so tiny and young. I don't think she'll make it past the bloodbath to be quite honest. She and the female from District 3."

"Graham knows her," I say. "Or her family, at least."

"I'm not surprised. District 3 isn't that big."

"I hope Rue makes it through the blood bath," I say. "She and both of the tributes from District 5."

"Why 5?"

I shrug. "No reason. Who are your picks?"

"Don't know. It all depends on how they do today in the training and in the interviews." I must look confused, because he continues. "What they say and don't say? If you watch past interviews, you'll see what I mean."

"Which Games do you recommend?"

"Watch your grandmother's Games. Hell, watch my Games for all I care." We hurry into the training center, past the room where the tributes wait before they are ushered into see us.

He stops and I almost slam into the back of him. Eyes belonging to tributes from Districts 1,2, and 4 stare back at us. Marvel and Cato glower back at us.

"Who's the clown?" Cato sneers. The six of them point and sneer at Dimitri.

"Look at that guy," Glimmer mocks. "Whoever his stylist is, they need to be fired."

They make a few more hurtful jokes, but Dimitri seems nonplussed. His face is a painted white mask. He doesn't smile. His presence makes them uneasy, they keep throwing glances back in his direction. We've caught Rue's and the tributes from District 5, and 6. They're eyes are wide. No doubt they recognize the purple robes we are wearing, unlike the Careers.

I grab Dimitri's sleeve to get him away from the window. "Let's go."

He doesn't move.

"Dimitri." I plead softly. I have no idea if they can hear me. "Don't let them bother you. They're just stupid kids."

"Yeah, I'm going to paint my face white and look like a fucking clown," Marvel sneers. "And I'll scare small children. Booga Booga!"

"Come on, let's go." I pull on his sleeve again. Dimitri doesn't move, he seems to be lost in thought.

I punch him in the shoulder.

He winces, and rubs his arm. "Ow. What was that for?"

I point at my non-existent watch. "We're going to be late."

"Keep your shirt on," he nods towards the Careers. "What did you notice in them just now?"

"They're tools and they made fun of you. I bet if they knew who you were, they wouldn't have done that."

He takes my hand, and my heart flutters. _Stop it_, I tell myself. _He's your mentor. That kiss meant nothing. _Besides, there's still Graham to consider. It would be unfair.

He looks around and pulls me into a small unused room and closes the door. It has a couch and a television. This is the one of the many rooms where the mentors will watch their tributes in the arena.

Again, his lips inches are away from mine. "No, no, no, I don't give a fuck of what those brats think of me. Don't you see?" His mouth turns into a cruel smile. "They're overconfident in their abilities."

"And they should be confident in their abilities," I say. "They have the best mentors and facilities to train."

"And the ego of entitlement to match," Dimitri adds. He grips my arm tighter. "Just like people from the Capitol who expect to be entertained by their deaths."

"But the tributes from Districts 1 and 2 think it's an honor to die," I argue.

He licks his lips and his eyes harden. "Do you think it's an honor to die in a barbaric fashion with most of your dignity stripped away? Some of the tributes plead for their lives and cry for their mothers, and yet you watch on your television with glee as they are brutally murdered," he sneers. Flecks of spittle fly from his mouth onto my face. He twists my arm tightly behind my back and backs me up against a wall. "What about the female tributes that are raped before they're killed? Do you think they deserve that? Of course, they don't show that on television. Yet to you and your little friends, it's a little game; an excuse to throw a party. Where's the honor in that?"

"You and the other tributes don't deserve what you go through in the arena. It's cruel and inhumane."

"_I_ was one of those 'stupid kids' you referred to back there."

"I—"

"You know nothing about what happened to me in there, how they tortured me after the Games."

"I can relate sort of," I say.

"You don't fucking know me. Don't talk to me like you fucking know me! Don't fucking talk to me about what I went through in the arena while you were at home sitting on your cushy couch eating chocolate while I ran for my life." I smell alcohol on his breath. He shoves me into a counter. The mugs rattle dangerously. I escape briefly but he catches me and pins me against the refrigerator with his body. His eyes are filled with hatred and I am afraid that I will end up like the female tributes whose entire fates the Gamemakers chose not to show.

"Dimitri, you're hurting me," I plead. "Dimitri, stop. Please."

I try to think about my escape routes. If I screamed, would anyone come? The tributes surely would here me, but would they come? I could knee him in the groin and then run. Being a former tribute, his reflexes are probably pretty fast.

"As much as you don't want to admit it, you are _exactly _like your mother. You think everyone adores you."

"That's not true," My eyes fill with tears. "I lived in District 8 and worked in a factory with my sister."

"And so that makes you not like them. You-" He grabs my robe in both hands.

"What have I done to you for you to be so cruel to me? I know you suffered at the hands of the Capitol. I'm not discounting that at all. But what gives you the right to automatically to lump me with them?"

His jar twitches and then his eyes flicker back into focus, like someone has slapped him. The cruelty fades from eyes and he releases me. Footsteps hurry down the hall. I see the white helmets of Peacekeepers. Baffled, he looks around the room and runs a hand through his hair. There is fear in his eyes.

"Carmen," he whispers. "I don't know what came over me."

"That hurt," I spit, rubbing my shoulder.

"Oh my God," He repeats. "Carmen, I—"

Lupe peeks into the room. "What are you two doing in here?"

"Dimitri was giving me a tour," I lie.

Dimitri scuffs his feet on the ground. "I want her to have the entire experience."

Did you here someone scream?" He looks worried. "It's against the rules for the tributes to engage in combat before the Games."

"No, I didn't hear it. Did you?" I ask Dimitri.

He shakes his head. Lupe frowns at both of us. "You should go to the training room now. We want to start on time."

Dimitri nods and swallows hard. He puts an arm on my shoulder to lead me out.

"Don't touch me," I growl.

Dimitri immediately backs off, raising both of his hands above his shoulders. "As you wish." There's no malice in his voice.

I follow him into the room. We are the last ones there. A long table stretches the length of the gymnasium. There are about ten or so other people that I have never seen in my life wandering around. I tug on Dimitri's sleeve, "Who are these other people?"

He scowls at me. "Other Gamemakers. Some of them have served on other Games on the main committee. Some of them helped design the arena and the dangers that live in it."

"Trackerjackers?" I ask.

He chuckles. "Worse."

Dimitri and I take the seats closest to the punch bowl. There is one person already sitting at the end, and we squeeze behind him. Seneca Crane claps his hands and thanks us all for taking time out of our schedules to be here. Dimitri rolls his eyes and pours himself a glass of wine and drinks the entire thing in one gulp. At my place there is a clipboard with the names of the tributes and a place for a score. Seneca Crane explains the scoring system and what we are looking for to adapt the arena to allow the tributes to perform at the best of their abilities.

"Help yourself to the food," the mysterious gamemaker says. "It's going to be a long day."

I open my notebook and Dimtri pours himself another glass of wine. He pours me one too and sets it in front of me. He doesn't meet my eyes.

Districts 1 and 2's tributes are the ones who naturally show that they have any talent. District 3's tributes show as much skill as a cat trying to learn how to tap dance. The weapons are clumsy in their hands. Rosemary, the female tribute's throwing knives bounce off the target and skid across the floor. Several of the Gamemakers shake their heads, and she goes out in tears. I am mortified for her.

"Obviously, we'll curve the scores to make it look like the tributes will be evenly matched. It will also prevent the tributes from becoming discouraged, because you know we can't have a bad show," Dimitri murmurs.

Somewhere in between District 7's female tribute and District 8's male tributes, Dimitri slides a napkin with several dashes on it. "Guess a letter."

We are supposed to be watching the tributes, but they are so bad that it's painful to watch.

"Don't you think you've had enough to drink?"

"That's not a letter.

I look at the napkin with all the dashes. "That's not a word, that's a small book."

"It's seven, actually. If I wanted it to be a novel, I would make it 50,000."

"Q."

He draws a head on the stand. "He's got a head."

"After what you said to me back there, what makes you think I want to talk to you," I hiss. "Let alone play hangman with you." I try to focus on the tribute. The person that sat next to us has moved farther down the table and is talking to Contessa.

"Are you, are you,

coming to the tree

Where they strung up a man they say murdered three.

Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree." Dimitri sings softly.

My blood runs cold. "R."

"Two R's."

"Are the tributes always this bad?" I try to steer the conversation away from that song.

He shrugs and helps himself to a plate of food. "It depends on the year. They'll do…. Well, some of them will do better in the arena. If they make it through the bloodbath. Can I get you some punch?"

I rub my eyes wearily. "Is it spiked?"

"No, but I'll spike it with something if you want?"

"O."

He counts his letters on his napkin. "Two 'o's. You need to pick up your game."

"S."

"Three."

My stomach growls. The smell of the food is too much. I help myself to several things on the table. Between eating, drinking and playing hangman, Dimitri and I attempt to pass the time. He kidnaps my notebook during District 11 and draws obscene pictures of the other Gamemakers, mainly Contessa, whose behavior has gotten out of hand and is sitting on another Gamemaker's lap, sucking his face. The angry individual I saw earlier in Dimitri is gone, probably mellowed out by the wine. He hums along to the old Irish drinking song that the Elmo is leading.

Dimitri and I watch Rue. She is very light on her feet. She makes a few snares, demonstrates knowledge in edible plants, and is pretty good with a knife.

"If she can escape the bloodbath and outrun some of the larger tributes, she might have a chance." Dimitri says. "Her knife work is a little sloppy. I wish I could show her a few things."

It goes without saying; giving any tribute any advantage is illegal. Dimitri hands me my notebook back so I can make a few notes. I chuckle at his picture of Contess. He has given her a large penis and huge boobs.

The different platters are cleared and a boar with an apple in its mouth is set on our end of the table. People ooh and ahh, before they fire up another dinking song. Peeta comes in and he throws around weights. I don't blame him. I'd be pissed too,.

"I don't understand you," I say.

"Most people don't," Dimitri says. He takes a sip of his wine and keeps his eyes focused on Peeta. The drinking song grows louder. Peeta stops and looks up, annoyed, and then goes back to throwing weights. He takes back my notebook and goes back to sketching.

I sigh. My butt is falling asleep. I haven't moved since District 6 when I went to the bathroom. We sit there in silence trying to ignore the singing. Some of these tributes must find us to be disgusting. Dimitri's words about being an entitled Capitol girl come back. I probably did sit on the couch and watch him run for his life. I can't even imagine what it would be like to be in a place like District 12, that doesn't always have electricity to a place where you can push a button and food appears.

Peeta leaves and Katniss comes in. She fiddles around the bows, picking up each one. Finally, she chooses one. Her first shot goes wide. Katniss is baffled, then she shoots better the next few times.

"Carmen." He touches my shoulder. "About what happened earlier? I just want to tell you-"

Katniss aims her bow directly at me. My heart stops as she releases string and it moves towards me in slow motion.

"LOOK OUT!" Dimitri yells. He shoves me out of my chair, his body landing on top of mine. There is a loud crack as my skull hits the concrete floor. Different colors of stars pop in front of my eyes. I feel as though I have looked in to a very bright camera flash. Then there is darkness, like whatever bright light existed there has been extinguished.

**A/n: This is really long. Sorry about that. Please review.**


	14. Chapter 14

I don't own the Hunger Games, only this story and the original characters.

**Chapter 14**

Somewhere, someone yells my name. It's far away. Suddenly, something cool washes over my head, and down my back. I open my eyes. Dimitri leans over me. "Carmen!" he screams. The panic in his voice escalates, and I can't help but feel some satisfaction. My head is throbbing. I touch the back of it and it is sticky and smells like fruit punch.

_That's funny,_ I think. _I don't remember blood smelling like that._ In fact, I don't remember what blood smells like. It doesn't matter. I'm tired and close my eyes. People in white lab coats surround me.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" One medic asks. They lift me onto a stretcher and fit me with a neck brace before they lift me to take me to wherever they're taking me.

"Two." I answer. I feel hot and cold at the same time.

"Do you know your name?"

"Carmen Hyde." So tired.

"Stay with me," The medic says loudly.

"When's your birthday?" He shines a light into my eyes.

"I'm going to be sick." Somehow, I doubt that's the answer they want. They roll me onto my side and I vomit in to a kidney-shaped basin.

"When's you're birthday?" He asks again.

"February 8th."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Dimitri."

"I'm here," Dimitri says. He takes my hand and squeeze it again. "Just answer his question, sweetheart."

I'm going to be sick again. "Private sessions."

"Where?" Dimitri presses.

"The arena."

"Close enough," Dimitri mutters.

The medic pauses to consider my answer. He has sandy blond hair and blue eyes. His badge says his name is Lance.

"No," I murmur. I just want to back to the cold dark space where I can sleep. I don't want to deal with Dimtri. I don't want to deal with the Games. I don't want to know why Katniss saw someone in the woods, and why the Capitol know that. Who is this Dimitri person, anyway?

"Carmen." Dimitri says. He clutches my hand. The movement from them carrying me makes me dizzy and I will myself not to puke again. I try to go back to sleep. Every time single time I try to close my eyes to go to that dark, quiet place, that bastard Dimiti pinches me. I want to have him and that medic shot and killed.

"Stop pinching me." My voice is slurred. "I want to go to sleep."

"You can't sleep until they look at your brain." Dimitri strokes the top of my head, gently. "I'm sorry, baby, but that's the way it works."

I want to tell him that my head hurts, but I can't find the words. The medics seem to be finding every bump in the floor. As we move, I seem to be getting colder, like someone cranked up the air conditioning. They pile more blankets on me, but it doesn't seem to help.

I don't remember much about what happens next, other than they're yelling something about going into shock. All of that seems far away. The only thing that seems real is the cold that infiltrating my body and seeping through my veins. I am awake, but I don't understand what's going on around me. I feel numb and I can't focus on anything. They keep asking me my name and the date. Carmen. Two days before the Hunger Games begin. They probably know more about me than I know about myself.

Everything you do, what you eat, what you say, who you say it to, is known by the Capitol. Everything what has been said and done by the tributes is recorded. Anything illegal you've done automatically puts your name into the reaping ball. The majority of them are rigged. For instance in this year's District 8 female tribute is the mayor's daughter According to her file, her father was authorizing shipments of blankets to go to poorer districts so that they wouldn't freeze in the winter. The Capitol is using the Games as a warning. The tribute's profiles note that.

Every time you disobey the Capitol, you get a mark on your record. People like Katniss and her "cousin" Gale probably have lots of marks against them since they break the law on a daily basis. They knew she would take her sister's place. Too many marks mean your death. Of course, the Capitol has to cleverly arrange it. An accident. A fire. Suicide. Your kid randomly ends up dead. Kill someone you love to make you stop. Nothing is ever accident. You sneeze, they know. You're in the wrong spot at the wrong time, they'll know. They'll just file that away to use against you later. Even the trees have eyes. That's what I learned in District 8.

A light switch has turned on in my brain. I can move and feel again. I don't know where I am or how much time has passed. My head aches. Dimitri sits in a chair at my bedside flipping through a magazine. My pocketbook and notebook are in his lap. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

"Where is my sister?" I ask. My mouth tastes like stale vomit.

Dimitri frowns. "You don't have a sister. You're the only child. I called you're mother, but she can't come because she has some social engagement. Your grandmother is a mentor for District 8. One of them had to pull out because they got really sick."

"But she was working with me at the loom, and then the fire started. I don't remember what happened after that." I say. "She's only twelve. I have to find her. Please Dimitri."

He opens his mouth and then closes it. "I'll go ask the nurse."

He walks out of the room and catches one of the medics. I strain to hear what they're talking about, but it hurts too much to move my head.

Dimitri comes back and he's smiling. He gives me an ice pack to put on my head. "You're sister's okay. She's in critical condition so she has to stay, but you can go home."

"Can I see her?"

"No, she's in a special unit. They don't let people back there. I asked." He takes my hand and squeezes it. "How old are you, Carmen?"

"Sixteen," I say.

I can see in his eyes that this is the wrong answer. I try again. "Eighteen?"

"You're twenty." He answers. "It's okay. You hit your head really hard. They said you might be a little disorientated when you woke up."

"How did I hit my head?"

"You fell off your chair and smacked you head," He hesitates. "It's my fault. I thought she was going to shoot you with her arrow. She doesn't miss, you know."

"I'm still cold."

"You're still in shock. It's okay." He pats my arm awkwardly.

"Can I go home?"

"Yes, we can go home. But I have to stay with you, is that okay?"

I nod. I reach up and touch my hair. It is matted and sticky. My fingers find the large goose egg on the back of my head. I wince when I touch it. Dimitri sees my displeasure. "We can fix that too. The doctor… the doctor said it's going to be sore for a few days and you might have some headaches."

A nurse brings a wheelchair. Dimitri helps me swing my legs over the side of the bed and ease into the wheelchair slowly. I'm wearing a hospital gown that has a hole in the back that shows my entire rear. The back of my legs feel sticky.

"Where are my clothes?"

"The punch soaked completely through them and they cut them off of you. I saved your shoes though." Dimitri pulls the hair tie out of his hair and it cascades down his shoulders in fire red waves. Then he takes my gown and bunches it in the back, and secures it with the hair tie.

I sit down in the wheelchair and he puts my boots on my feet. I feel like the girl in the old fairy tale when the prince puts a glass slipper on her foot. Then the nurse tucks a blanket around my legs. Dimitri drapes has black leather jacket around my shoulders. It is warm from his body. My head aches. The drugs aren't working.

Dimitri leaves to go get the car, and the nurse makes small talk with me. She talks about what the tributes wore to the Opening Ceremonies. District 12's was the best. Yes, yes it was.

The car pulls up and the nurse and Dimitri help me into the car. I am shivering even though the air is balmy and warm in the parking garage. My teeth are chattering even though Dimitri turns up the heat. Sweat beads on his forehead and make greasy skid marks down his forehead and cheeks.

Something in my mind says that I should be angry at him. But I'm not. I can't be. I don't remember why I am upset at him in the first place. He's been nothing but kind to me, checking on my sister, tying up the back of my robe, helping me with my shoes, and most importantly, driving my home when my family can't leave their social obligations to take the time to call and check on me.

"What do you remember about today?" Dimitri asks.

I think. Vaguely, I remember sitting in a room and watching people with weapons. I remember something about a hovercraft and hiding in the woods.

Dimitri frowns. "The only reason the Capitol knows Katniss and Gale, I assume that's who you're talking about, know they saw is because when a hovercraft beams someone up they send out a pulse of energy to make sure the area around them is clear. Well, Katniss and her boyfriend weren't out of range. The Capitol was able to see that, and when they analyzed the data from their chips."

"Chips?"

"At birth, we're implanted with chips by the Capitol. They use them to track where we are and what we're doing. Half of the time they fail."

"How do you know?" I'm still cold and shivering.

"You take your chances."

"Where do they put the chips?"

He just shrugs. "Does it matter? It's one of the Capitol's many dirty secrets."

I close my eyes as we speed down the highway towards home. Dimitri's hand reaches into my lap and squeezes my hand. The loving gesture surprises me. Usually such gestures have strings attached.

"What else do you remember about today?" He asks.

I shake my head. "I don't remember anything."

"What's your last memory that sticks out in your mind?"

I take my time answering this question. I try to remember the past few days, but they seem to be a colorful mess of things. "There was a party and dancing," I say. "You kissed me."

He groans and turns on the radio. "You're not going to let me forget that, are you?"

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why did you kiss me?"

Dimitri shrugged. "I drank too much, I guess. I don't really have a good excuse for that."

"Would you do it again?"

"I might." He flashes me a small grin.

I blush. My head throbs and I try to find a comfortable way to rest my head on the headrest. I'm starting to feel very tired again. I'm also so very cold. Dimitri has turned off the heat, probably because he started to die of heat exhaustion. "How much longer until we get home?"

"About ten minutes are so. Depends on the traffic."

"I'm cold."

He turns up the heat again. "I know, just hang in there a little bit longer."

After what seems to feel like forever, we pull into the parking garage for the Gamemakers' and mentors' living quarters. Dimtri drives up to the door. "Wait. I'll help you out."

A Peacekeeper comes out of the toll both. "You can't park here."

"My girlfriend was just discharged from the hospital. I need to take her upstairs and get her settled." Dimitri puts his arm around me protectively. He's holding my pocketbook and notebook. I huddle closer to him for warmth.

The Peacekeeper gives me a once over. We must look like an odd pair, Dimitri and I. "Sorry, sir. We can't make exceptions."

"Should I let someone who's suffering from shock stand out here and get colder because some Capitol nutjob won't temporarily park here. I want to speak to your supervisor when I get back." Dimitri threatens.

I am shaking terribly now and my teeth are chattering so hard, it's making the pain worse in my head.

The Peacekeeper pulls out a thick leather-bound book and opens it. "I'm going to write you a ticket for your failure to follow…"

"Is there a problem?" Elmo asks. He and Lupe are still wearing their purple Gamemaker robes.

"He won't let me park here so I can take Carmen upstairs."

"We can't make exceptions." The Peacekeeper repeats.

"They're both Gamemakers," Elmo explains.

Lupe comes to our rescue. "Dimitri, I'll park your car and bring your keys up to you since they won't cooperate with you. How are you feeling, Carmen?"

I smile weakly and cling to Dimitri. Words escape me right now.

"He didn't say that," The Peacekeeper says.

"I shouldn't have to," Dimitri yells. People have stopped and are staring at us. "You should be able to tell that she's not feeling well. She's shivering for fuck's sake. She's also got a wristband from the hospital and wearing a hospital gown. What else does she need, a fucking neon sign? Go ahead; write me that goddamn ticket, I fucking dare you."

"What's your name, sir?" He clicks his pen. You can tell he enjoys giving tickets by the glee on his face.

Dimitri holds up both of our badges. His voice is deadly. "Dimitri Kral, Gamemaker. I want your name and your supervisor's name."

The Peacemaker's face goes pale as he sees the familiar crest on the two badges. "I'm so sorry sir."

"You should be, you tool." Dimitri spits. He tosses Elmo his keys. "Please don't wreck my car, and get his name for me. I have to take my girl inside."

Elmo and Lupe look bemused.

"You take good care of our girl," Elmo says.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he whispers, wrapping his arm around my waist. We go in the glass doors and wait for the elevator to take us up to our floor. I lean against him, grateful to have him here with me. The ride up makes me feel dizzy and disoriented. The only reason I don't vomit is because I have nothing left in my stomach. I rest my head against his shoulder and try to ignore the flashing lights. I try not to breathe too hard because I don't want him to smell the vomit on my breath.

Finally, the elevator reaches our floor and my teeth are chattering so hard, which in turn makes my head ache so badly that I almost can't stand. Dimitri scoops me up in his arms easily and carries me down the hall. I've only seen someone carried bridal style in old movies.

"I'm sorry my breath smells bad," I say.

He smiles. "You're talking to a Hunger Games Victor, sweetheart. I've smelled a lot worse."

"I really just want to brush my teeth."

"We can do that," he says. He sets me down to open my door. I cling to him because little green dots appear in front of my eyes. Then he picks me up and carries me to my bedroom.

"Thank you," I say, softly.

He just shrugs. "I didn't do much. I just drove you home."

"Did we fight earlier?" I ask. I try to bend down to take off my boots, but I get too dizzy. I cling to Dimitri. He makes me lean against the doorframe as he removes them.

"I…might have said a few things that I shouldn't have," he admits. "What do you remember?"

I shake my head. "I don't remember anything. I just have the feeling that something happened between us. If I don't remember it, it must not be that important, right?"

"Guess not."

"I'm really sticky," I say. "My mouth feels yucky."

A knock on my door interrupts my complaints. "Must be Lupe," Dimitri says. He squeezes my shoulder. I go into the bathroom and brush my teeth. Dimitri and Elmo speak briefly and Dimitri reappears. My head does not like the motion of spitting in the sink and then looking up. Spots appear multiple times. I feel Dimitri's hand on the small of my back, supporting me. I look terrible.

I really want to take a shower, but if I'm having trouble brushing my teeth, there's no way I can make it though washing my hair without help. But if I can't take a shower and get the stickiness off, then I can't get in my bed. I'd get my sheets dirty. The female members of my family don't seem to care that I've suffered a bad injury.

"You okay?" he asks.

"I have a black eye," I say. Tears run down my face. "I keep getting dizzy." No one loves me. My own family has abandoned me for the Hunger Games.

"It comes with the territory of having a concussion. You have a lovely black eye and headaches as a reminder," He says gruffly. "I've had a couple. I know exactly how shitty you feel."

Dimitri gently unbraids my stiff fruit punch soaked hair. It is still damp, after all these hours. I have no idea how much time has passed between hitting my head and now.

"Do you trust me enough to let me help you?"

"Can you?" My voice trails off. I don't want to put him in an awkward position. I'm already indebted to him. I could ask Dimitri. The worst he could say is no.

He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it on the floor. Then he strips out of his pants, leaving only his black silk boxers. I see his reflection watching mine. His hand is still on my lower back.

I am not as cold any more, but I notice beads of sweat trickling down Dimitri's torso He mush have turned on the heat lamps. I touch the scar on his inner right arm. It is puckered and looks slightly angry. "That's from the tracker in the arena," Dimitri says. "Every victor has one." He points to a few scares on his torso. "These are from a bar fight. The ones on my back, I don't want to talk about."

"What about the ones on your face?" I ask. I lean against him as he takes off the scary mask, with soap and water revealing the handsome man underneath. Despite his scars, I find him extremely attractive.

His expression darkens and it makes the scars look more sinister. "Let's save that story for another time when you're feeling better."

Dimitri turns on the shower, hot enough that it produces steam. He pulls the hair tie out of my gown and it falls open in the back, exposing my black panties. Then he unties the small tie at the top so it falls off of my body and piles at me feet. I feel self-conscious.

"Don't worry; I've seen a naked women before. Your body is fine. You look beautiful, even with that shiner."

I smile and hesitantly remove my bra and panties. At least I wore cute ones today. I lean against him gratefully as he helps me into the shower.

The water washes over me and I sigh deeply. His body brushes against mine as he moves to remove the removable showerhead. Water droplets drip off his nose and face as he uses the showerhead to wet my hair. I hold on to his arms. I've never taken a shower with a man. I wonder if he can tell. I close my eyes and focus instead on staying upright. He turns me around and instructs me to put my hand on the shower wall and asks me to let him know if I get too dizzy. He massages my scalp with shampoo, avoiding the large bump on my head. The shampoo smells woodsy, natural.

"Is this the shampoo you use?" I ask.

"No, this is tea tree oil. It'll get rid of any buildup you have and also the gross punch. You know it was Plutarch that fell in, you know, knocked the whole damn thing over. It would have funny if you weren't lying there on the floor. The rest of their faces…" he chuckles. "It was fucking priceless."

"I thought the punch was blood," I say. "Until I noticed the smell."

He doesn't answer, but instead reaches up and removes the shower head and begins to rinse. "Blood doesn't smell that nice."

"I worked with my sister in the factories of District 8. They make fabric and clothing there. It was my father's orders that when we went there to stay with out grandmother that we work. When I was twelve, I was assigned a loom."

"I know what a loom is," Dimitri interrupts.

"I only had one or two at the most. Some girls had three or four power looms that they supervised. You didn't do the weaving, the loom did that, but every once and a while the thread on the power shuttle would get tangled, knotted or break. To fix this, you needed someone to climb under the machine and tie or untangle the thread." I take a deep breath. "They would use the younger children, eight or nine year-olds because they were small. The… the machines would break and they would send the children to fix them. There was a girl named Lotta. She was friends with my sister… She went to fix a broken thread and her hand got caught in a machine. She lost her entire hand. There was blood everywhere."

Dimitri hugs me and I cry. I haven't thought about my time in District 8 in a long time. He strokes the side of my face. "You're okay."

"There were pools of blood; it stained the entire loom and two others."

"Carmen," He holds me and the water trickles over us both.

"They beat us," I sobbed.

"They can't hurt you here. I won't let them." Dimitri lathers up a luffa and begins to wash my back and shoulders. I still cling to him.

"I don't know why I've decided to tell you this," I whimper.

"Injuries do funny things to us. It reminds us of our mortality, brings to light things we've tried to forget." He grips my shoulders and his forehead touches mine. "You aren't alone."

The bodywash he chooses is vanilla. His voice is soft in my ear. Sensuous. "I love this scent on a woman."

"Really?" I say.

"Yeah, sweet and simple. I'm not a big fan of most of the perfumes. They're a little… overwhelming."

"So—?" I can't tell it he's lying. My gaze flickers downward to his crotch. There is a small bulge there.

"Don't get any ideas. You get to wash the front," He warns as he hands me the luffa. I blush.

He steps out of the shower onto the instant dryer. There, he is dried instantly. He winces and pulls down his boxer shorts. "Static electricity in the wrong places."

I stand under the showerhead and feel the water beat down on my head. I'm starting to feel lightheaded again, but I don't have the heart to call him. He knocks on the wall. "Are you all clean yet? I don't want to scrape you off the shower floor."

I hit the button that turns off the hot water.

"I've got a towel ready, don't worry I'll close my eyes."

I open the glass door. He is waiting there with a large fluffy towel and his eyes are closed. I smile. "Thank you. You can open your eyes now."

"Someone has to take care of you," He says softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

"Well, you can't go to sleep yet, you have to eat a little something and the tribute scores are being shown tonight."

"I'm not hungry—"

"You puked up everything earlier. Trust me, you need to eat something."

"What if I can't keep it down? Then what?"

He shrugs. "Then you drink ginger ale and eat crackers, and try again later. It's not a big deal. I found you some clothes to put on. They're on the bed. I'm going to go put some clean clothes on and then I'll order us some food." He turns to leave the bathroom.

"Dimitri," I say. I'm starting to get cold again.

"Yeah?" He's standing in the doorway in nothing but his silk boxers with his clothes wadded up in a ball.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Getting dressed is an excruciating process, and my thoughts are in a jumble and I seem to have two left thumbs. Dimitri has laid out a matching purple bra and panty set. I bought these to wear for Graham for our six month anniversary. It's ironic that he chose these. A thought pops in my mind that Dimitri might have an ulterior motive. At this point in time I should probably be more concerned that he has been rooting around in my underwear drawer. Oddly enough, I'm not. In fact, I'm touched by the fact that he took the time to match my underthings with the dark purple silk pajamas my grandmother gave me as a gift on my birthday.

Graham would never take the time to be this thoughtful. When I sprained my ankle when I fell down the stairs, it took him two days to come see me. I doubt he'd help me wash the punch out of my hair or make sure I ate before I went to bed.

I climb under my quilt and hug my knees. I don't have the strength to find another quilt. Carefully, I run my hands through my dry hair. It is smooth and silky. I wince when my fingers find the large goose egg. Dimitri knocks on the door softly. He carries Oliver in one hand and two large blankets in the other. An icepack wrapped in a towel is thrown over his shoulder.

"Thought you might want some extra blankets and a kitten to keep you company. This guy was following me around and meowing. The other one is sleeping on top of the tributes' papers."

"He might be hungry."

"They're going to show the scores in about two hours. Why don't you sleep a little, and I'll wake you up when it's time. It's been a long enough since you hit your head, I think it's safe for you to sleep."

I nod and slide deeper under my covers. Dimitri tucks the extra blankets around me. I close my eyes and I am instantly asleep.

It feels like only a few moments later when Dimitri is gently shaking my shoulder. I groan and rub my eyes.

"It's time for the scores," He says. "I've also ordered Chinese food."

I raise my eyes. "Chinese food?" What is that?"

"It's a kind of food that they used to have in the days before Panem. I was introduced to it…by a friend after winning my Games."

"You really were born in the wrong time period," I joke.

"Yes, well, I'm not the only one. Come eat, the food is going to get cold." He helps me out of bed and then wraps a blanket around my shoulders.

"I didn't know what you would like so I ordered all my favorites."

I chuckle and follow him to the kitchen. On the counter, there are six different kinds of white boxes with wire handles and two bowl containers. The television is already on and is turned to a movie. The Capitol's broadcast will take over all channels. Dimitri pulls out two plates and one pair of silverware.

"You aren't going to eat?"

"Oh yeah, I'm just going to use chopsticks." He shows me two pieces of thin wood. I can't imagine someone eating with them.

"Chopsticks?"

"What kind of Capitol girl are you?" He scoffed. "You've never heard of Chinese food or chopsticks."

"I'm sheltered," I say defensively.

He shrugs. "I wouldn't say that. Not cultured, maybe, is a better word."

"I grew up in a high class society," I snapped.

"But you spent time in District 8?" Dimitri opens a carton.

"Because my father wanted me to because he wanted me to see what life was like outside the Capitol. He didn't want me to be like them, whoever _they_ are. I haven't seen him in four years."

"The Capitol probably didn't like that very much." He opens a few of the boxes. "I met your father, about a year or so ago at a party at President Snow's mansion. He's a very kind man."

"I don't understand why he doesn't come home. I understand he's busy." My voice trails off.

"You ever thought about asking him? You know that your status of Gamemaker allows you direct access to anything you could possibly want: records, people, victors, all-access to the hottest parties, right? Though, I don't recommend looking up your folks' records. You many not like what you find."

"How do I get in touch with my father?" I interrupt.

"Let's eat first, and then I'll show you how to use the database to look up people and how to get in touch with people." He opens all of the cartons. "Sorry, I'm really hungry."

He points to the different cartons and describes what is in each. I chose to try the beef chow mein , sesame chicken, eggrolls and egg drop soup. Dimitri piles his plate full with everything. We sit down just in time for the showings of the scores.

"Was I supposed to do something for that?" I take a bite of the beef chow mein. It tastes wonderful.

"Don't worry, I submitted them for you." He chuckles. "You like it?"

"This is probably some of the best food I've ever had." I take another bite, and suddenly I realize how hungry I actually am.

The anthem plays and they start showing the scores. I try to remember what each tribute did in their private session, but I can't. I have difficulty concentrating on the names. My head still hurts and I can't focus.

"It looks like Katniss will be a target," Dimitri says. "But at least your Rue did well. Tomorrow are their interviews."

"Do I have to go to those?" I ask. My head feels heavy, and I lean against Dimitri's shoulder.

"I think they would exempt you, considering what happened today." He takes both of our plates and sets them on the coffee table. Then he adjusts his position so we are both lying down and my head rests on his chest. He pulls the blanket over both of us.

"I don't want to go."

He strokes my hair. "I'll let them know."

I shouldn't being doing this for several reasons. The first one and probably the biggest reason is that he is my mentor and our relationship is supposed to be professional. He's seen me naked, so I guess professional wouldn't describe our relationship. Secondly, I've only known him for less than a week. Finally, I'm still "officially" with Graham. I bury my face in his shoulder and breathe in deeply. I decide to deal with the guilt tomorrow.

"Are you going?" I ask.

"Do you want me to go?"

"No."

"Then I won't go." He checks his phone and then puts it on the floor by the couch. The kittens climb up and join us. Althea finds a spot on Dimitri's lap and Oliver cuddles on his shoulder.

"I hope you're not allergic to cats," I joke.

His eyes are closed. "The only thing I'm allergic to is Capitol bullshit."

**A/n: Please read and review!**


	15. Chapter 15

**I don't own the Hunger Games, but I do own this story and the original characters.**

**Chapter 15**

The next morning, I wake up in my own bed and I have no idea how I got there. The sunlight is streaming in the window in such a way, which makes me believe that it is late in the day. I sit up and instantly dizzy. My head throbs. I need some morphling, or something. There is a purple hyacinth on my nightstand. The flowers are just beginning to open and their smell fills my bedroom.

There is a light tap on the door and Dimitri pokes his head in. "Oh good, you're awake."

"Where did the hyacinth come from?" I ask.

"Oh," He blushes. "It's from me. I thought you'd like it. It reminded me of you."

"How did you know purple hyacinths are my favorite flower?"

"Just a lucky guess." He disappears and then appears with a tray that holds my breakfast: scrambled eggs, toast with strawberry jam, two strips of bacon, and a glass of orange juice.

"You've been busy," I say. I am touched that he decides to bring me flowers and breakfast in bed.

"I aim to please." He winks at me.

"What time is it?" I sip my juice.

"Around eleven or so."

"Why did you let me sleep so late?"

"I tried to wake you up earlier, but you took a couple of swings at me. Around six, you bit me. It's good to know that you have some fight in you. Really, I was expecting you to roll over and stare at me with those big blue eyes of yours and sigh, 'Oh Dimitri.'" He sticks his tongue out at me as he helps me sit up in bed and stuffs a few pillows behind my back.

I roll my eyes. "In your dreams."

He sits on the bed beside me and places the tray in my lap and as he opens the small medicine bottle and dumps a few pills in his hand. "Theses should help with any pain you're having."

"It doesn't feel too bad unless I move too fast. It feels like I have a really bad hangover."

"Sounds about right," He chuckles.

"You look sleepy," I say. I reach up and stroke the side of his face with my hand. My thumb rests on the scar by his mouth. He is wearing no makeup and I can see the dark circles etched under his eyes. Freckles sprinke his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He closes his eyes and leans into the gesture like a cat leans into someone scratching the side of its head. My heart skips a beat as our eyes meet. "Did you sleep okay last night?"

"I don't sleep much these days." He shrugged. "I slept on your couch last night. It's not too bad."

"Why didn't you say something? I have a guest bedroom. You could have stayed in there and been comfortable."

Dimitri kisses my fingertips. "It doesn't matter. I'm fine. Just eat your food. We have to go to the training center today at two. We're on the committee that examines the tributes tokens."

"I'm impressed you know how to cook." I take a bite of my scrambled eggs.

"I had to learn to survive somehow. I almost burnt my house down a couple of times." He shook his head. "Fucking toaster. I threw the damn thing out the door I don't know how many times, and then my mentor, Aealla would call me and be like 'You know your toaster's in the front yard, right?' I would be like, 'Yeah, I know. It's in timeout right now.'"

I chuckle. "Did the bread get stuck or what happened that your toaster would start smoking?"

"It was possessed. Then one time, I tried to cook a ham to impress this girl that I was trying date at the time. That didn't turn out so well, either. Anyway, somehow it caught on fire and the smoke detector started going off. It was like hell appeared in my oven, there were flames coming out of it. I take it out of the oven, put out the fire. As I'm trying to fan the smoke away from detector and then the doorbell rings. It's her and there's this huge cloud of smoke behind me. Needless to say, that was the end of my chances with her."

"I don't believe you." I say. I imagine Dimitri wearing and apron, standing on a chair, and fanning the smoke detector with a towel. It's adorable. "I'd love to date a guy who is able to cook."

"Trust me; no one wants to be with a victor. Too much damage." He smiles sadly and looks out the window.

"No one's too damaged to be loved," I say around a mouthful of bacon.

"Can you cook?" Dimitri asks, changing the subject.

I chuckle. "I can cook a little bit. Enough to survive."

"I'm impressed that you don't have any Avoxes."

"My mother tried, you know," I say. "I'm trying to be independent, but we'll see how long I last."

He chuckles and squeezes my shoulder. "I think you're doing fine."

"It really hurts that they didn't come see me last night."

"Yeah," Dimitri agrees. "Your grandmother is mentoring, but that's not an excuse. The kiddies have to go to bed sometime. I called her twice and gave her updates, but she never called me back."

My doorbell rings and Dimitri groans. "I hope to God that's not more flowers. You're living room is beginning to smell like a funeral parlor."

"Who sent me flowers?" I ask, "Besides you."

He shrugs as he leaves my room. "I assume the other Gamemakers. Finish your breakfast and we'll look at the cards."

High heels click across the floor and my mother pokes her head into my room. She is dressed in the most recent Capitol fashions. Her hair is colored a rich gold. "Hello, darling, how are you feeling?"

I am both glad to see her, but also hurt and annoyed that she didn't come sooner. Surely, she doesn't consider her social engagements to be more important than her own daughter?

"Oh you poor dear, what happened?" She asks as she sits down on my bed.

"I hit my head," I say, "During the private sessions."

She feels my head checking for fever and cups my cheek. It's all a big show. "You have a black eye. Are you sure that's what happened?"

"I'm positive Dimitri wouldn't lie to me," I say flatly. "Why didn't you check on me last night?"

"It was late when we got done. Who gave you those flowers?" She nods to the purple hyacinth beginning to bloom on my nightstand. She leans into smell them. Something inside me becomes angry. I don't want her to touch them. When she touches the things I love, they are inevitably destroyed.

"Dimitri." I say. "He said they reminded him of me."

She purses her lips, and smiles. "You know, I saw you two at the Opening Ceremonies together. Don't let his words and actions affect you too much. After all, he is a Victor."

"What's that's supposed to mean?" I growl. As far as I can tell, Dimitri is the only person that I can really _rely_ on. My own mother flaks on me to party.

"Trust me, you may think he cares about you now, but when the Games start he'll become and entirely different person."

Dimitri stands in my doorway holding a slim vase that is filled with a single stalk filled with many purple flowers. "These are from Contessa."

"Those are pretty," I say.

"Foxglove," Dimitri answers. "They have a double meaning: insincerity and a wish for the recipient to heal from all aliments and trauma. Maybe she's not out to get you like you think. I'm running out of places to put the flowers. I can't put them on the coffee table because of the kittens."

"Let me help you," I say. I move the tray off my lap and stand. My mother tries to help me, but I push her away. Instantly, I am dizzy. After a few minutes, the stars fade. Dimitri has crossed the room and is steadying me by wrapping a concerned arm around my waist.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

"I'm fine; I just got up too fast. That's all."

"What happened that you hit your head?" She repeats. "I'm your mother, you will tell me."

I can't tell you anything without paying for it somehow.

"What happens in the private sessions, stay in the private sessions. You know this, Vivian." Dimitri's voice is firm but polite.

"Well, I am still…"

"It's not about you anymore," I say. That's how it was in my childhood. It had to be all about her.

Her eyes harden. "Just you wait. When you start having trouble, don't come crying to me. I've tried to help you, but you've just thrown it back in my face."

I roll my eyes. My mother watches us with crossed arms and an irritable scowl on her face. "Remember what I told you. I must go. I have to go get my nails done." She doesn't hug or kiss me good bye. The release I felt immediately evaporates.

He sets the vase of foxglove on my dresser. "Look, just shake it off. Don't let her ruin your day."

"You're right."

I spend the time before Dimitri and I have to go to the training center putzing around the apartment. My living room is full of flowers and smells like a funeral parlor. Flowers arrangements and bouquets cover my kitchen counter, dinning room table, and book cases. I have never received so many flowers in my life. They are all from the other Gamemakers, probably out of false concern. My mother receives flowers from many of her male suitors and they often decorated our living room. No one I've ever dated has given me flowers.

As I read the cards, I think back to last night when I fell asleep on Dimitri's chest. For the first time, since I became a Gamemaker, I felt safe. . He hasn't mentioned last night. I don't have the nerve to. What would I say? 'About that shower?' or 'Thanks, now I know what you like, I'll start wearing vanilla.' Or 'Sorry I drooled on your shirt.' He sits on the couch thumbing through a newspaper. I want to go lean against his shoulder and have his arms around me. I want him to bring back that feeling of safety my mother destroyed with her visit.

I busy myself with flipping my notes. There are countless drawings of various things my notebook. Fruit. Bones. Contessa with huge Gazonas and a large penis. A loose page falls out. On this page, there is a sketch of me. His pen strokes focus mainly on my face. In the picture I gaze straight ahead with a concentrated gaze on my face.

As I turn the pages a paper napkin falls out. 'I'm sorry I'm an asshole. You deserve better.' It's in Dimitri's handwriting.

Finally, one-thirty comes around and we make our way back down to the training center, the same place we were yesterday. The elevator flies down quickly, making me feel incredibly nauseated. I cling to Dimitri's arm. When the elevator stops it takes me a few moments to regain my balance. As we walk out of the metal doors, our fingers touch. I want so desperately to grab hold of his hand.

_Stop it,_ I tell myself firmly, _He's your mentor. Just because he's been nice to you, doesn't mean you're allowed to feel this way._

We enter a small conference room that is adjacent to where the private sessions were held yesterday. There is only a small group of us today; two women and one man that I don't recognize, Sixten, Dimitri, and I.

The tributes' district tokens lay across the table with a white index card underneath giving the tribute's name and district. Districts 1 and 2's tokens are most elaborate than most of the other districts, obviously. A diamond encrusted pendent and amethyst ring.

"The goal of the review panel is to make sure that none of the tributes' district tokens can be used as an unfair advantage in the arena." Sixten explains. "Please twist, poke and prod every nook and cranny."

The woman named Adina, Dimitri, and I are assigned Districts 7 through 12. Adina seems to be less than pleased to be working with either us. Her skin is dyed a shade of orange and she has an ornate eyebrows. She reminds me of an Oompa Loompa.

Dimitri picks up a wooden ball belonging to the male tribute from District 7. He throws it up in the air and catches it. Then he bounces it on the ground and catches it. "I think this one is okay." He hands it to me. "What do you think?"

The wooden ball is perfectly smooth under my fingertips. There are a few nicks in the finish from being dropped, but I cannot find anything wrong with the item. "Looks fine to me." Dimitri takes the token and puts it back with the card.

Adina sniffs. "Some of these tokens are absolutely pathetic." She pokes the obviously harmless necklace that has a wooden and grass charm with her pen. "How does that remind you of home? If you're going to bring a token, you should at least make it attractive."

Dimitri rolls his eyes.

"Well, you don't know that," I say, "Maybe it's a traditional sign of good luck or a family heirloom?"

"They're so barbaric in the districts," Adina purses her coral colored lips together. "When they get here, the stylists have to do so much work to even make them appear presentable. Apparently, they scrubbed at least seven layers of dirt from the tributes of District 12. The female tribute had never waxed her legs, can you imagine?"

I can only imagine what they think of us. When I spent the summers in District 8, my sister and I were always told don't let them know you're from the Capitol. Of course the children knew. We certainly weren't year round residents. We didn't look like we were starving and our hands were soft. My sister and I were regarded with suspicion and even envy. They gave us the lightest tasks to do, though secretly I think they wanted to make us suffer. We lived in luxury and eat whenever we wanted. We also had power both day and night. We had heat in the winter while they froze in the winter; Air conditioning in the summer while they baked from the heat in the factories. There were some adults who you could tell, itched to get their hands on us, to give us what they thought we deserved. Who can blame them for hating us? I even hated us.

A loud cry of surprise distracts me from my inner thoughts. One of the women holds the ring, which belongs to Glimmer from District 1. A metal spike protrudes from a ring.

"Well, it looks like we have a winner," Dimitri says flatly. He continues to examine the rest of the tokens.

I pick up the token that belongs to Thresh from District 11. It is a feather that is the length of my hand. The bottom of the feather is white then it becomes a deep red. Across the top, there is a thick band of brown. It is unlike any feather I've ever seen in the capitol. "I suppose the end could be sharpened and used as a weapon."

"That's highly unlikely," Dimitri says. "No one's going to say 'Wait, let me find my feather so I can stab you with it.' If we want to get technical, feathers back in the day were used to write with."

"There's going to be little time for writing letters," I say.

Sixten calls in a mentor from District 1. Her nametag reads that her name is Cashmere. Long blond hair flows past her shoulders. She is wearing a simple black dress, a refreshing change from the Capitol's flashy fashions. Cashmere bows gracefully.

"Is your tribute aware that when the stone on her rings is turned to the left, a spike pops out?"

Cashmere mouth forms into a small o. "I had no idea. I can assure you that my tribute had no idea. Are you sure it's my tribute's ring?"

"If her name is Glimmer, then yes, that is her ring. It is what you submitted."

"Well, someone must have replaced it because no one from…."

Sixten holds up his hand. "An explanation is not necessary. You will inform Glimmer that her token has been denied."

Cashmere walks out with huff.

"Typical explanation," Dimitri mutters so that only I can hear.

Alina holds up Katniss's token. It's a pin of a mockingjay with a ring of gold around it. "There's a question for this token as well. There is question that Katniss can use this against other tributes."

"It's a pin," Dimitri explains. "It's going to be attached to her shirt. That's what most normal people do, anyway."

"But in desperate situations," one of the women on Sixten's side says.

"Subtle is not Katniss's style," I interrupt.

"It could be laced with poison."

Dimitri points to the ring. "That ring has more of a chance to be tipped the tip of a pin that Katniss is wearing on her shirt."

"The guidelines say that the tribute shall not take any token that gives them any advantage." Adina begins.

"We could call in Haymitch," Sixten says.

"Like we'd learn much," Adina snorts. "He hardly knows which side is up anymore, if you get my drift."

"Well, if you think about it anything can be used as a weapon. A tribute could choke another one with their necklace if they wanted to," I say. "However, it seems very unlikely. Half of the time, the audiences never see the tokens unless a tribute wins and it becomes the next biggest trend."

"Also, I think we're being biased as to what happened yesterday," Sixten adds. "Katniss has proved a strong contender in these Games."

"The point on the pin is very small," A small woman with purple hair says. This is the first time she has spoken during the session. "Katniss has the ability to make an impression and does it very well, as we all found out yesterday. However, she does not strike me as someone who is resourceful enough to use a pin as a weapon. The people from the Districts…. Aren't that smart."

"I don't believe that we should deprive her of her token either," the man adds. "We've had worse try to make it into the arena." This comment gets chuckles from everyone else.

"One year, we had a tribute from District 2 try to sneak in a switchblade in what looked like a turtle token." Dimitri whispers, shaking his head.

"Any other questionable tokens?" Sixten asks.

No one brings up anything else up, and we adjourn until tomorrow. "Don't forget," Sixten reminds Dimitri and I "Be at the arena by nine. They want to look a few things over before the tributes are brought in."

Dimitri waves him off as we leave. "Yeah, we'll be there. Don't worry."

We walk in silence until we get to the elevator. Dimitri scans his badge and away we go. My thoughts are still on Thresh's feather. What kind of bird did that feather belong to? It must have been a magnificent animal. If there were two feathers and they were smaller, they would make beautiful earrings.

"How's your head?" Dimitri asks, interrupting my train of thought.

"It hurts some," I say. "Not as bad as yesterday. What are the rest of your plans for the day?"

"I have to keep my eye on you, remember?"

The elevator doors open and we are back home. Dimitri leads the way and he goes into his apartment. I hesitate, wondering if he wants me to follow him, or if he wants some time alone. I want to go lie down and sleep for a few hours. He leaves the door open behind him. I walk into his apartment. It's a lot cleaner than it was a few days. There are several bottles of hard liquor on his counter. When Dimitri drinks, he goes hard. If he's having a party, did he plan to invite me?

Dimtri disappears into his bedroom. When he appears he is wearing tight black jeans and a black t-shirt. "You can make yourself more comfortable. I don't bite, or if you want to slip into something more comfortable. I thought we could chill and watch the interviews here. Change of scenery."

"I'm really tired." I say.

"I have a bed and a couch." He crosses his arms in front of him.

"What if my grandmother comes to visit me?" I say evenly.

"Let's be honest, do you really want to see her?"

"Not particularly." The pain in my head starts to escalate. It was originally just a minor throbbing. Now it feels like someone is tap dancing on my skull. It must show in my face.

"I have some sweatpants and a t-shirt you can borrow if you don't feel like walking back over to your apartment."

"Do you have any morphling?" I ask through gritted teeth.

"No, you can't have that. Morphling depresses your respiratory system. If you have a brain injury, that can up your risk of sending you into a coma. You can't have alcohol either."

"So, I guess I'm not invited to your party?" I point to the different kinds of liquor.

He laughs and rubs my shoulder. "You're welcome over here any time you want. Like I said, my door is always open."

Suddenly, I don't want to go back to my apartment. "Can I stay here?"

"Let me find you something to wear. Do you want my bed or the couch?" He seems more comfortable now having something to do that isn't related to the Hunger Games. He decides for me. "You should have the bed. You'll be more comfortable that way."

He ushers me into his bedroom. I am surprised at the simplicity of his bedroom. The walls are painted a light steel blue, and his furniture is a dark wood. The room is surprising clean for a single man. There is a large bookcase filled with books and several different knives. My fingers itch to go see what books he has, but my head hurts too much. There's an acoustic guitar sitting beside the bookshelf.

"You play guitar?"

"I like to screw around on it sometimes, when I'm feeling creative." He shrugs.

"Maybe we can do a duet sometime?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Maybe. I'm a little out of practice though. Do you know how to play?"

"No." I sit down on his bed as Dimitri rummages through one of his drawers. He pulls out a pair of pants and a black t-shirt and tosses them to me. "They might be a little big, but these should work."

He disappears into his bathroom and comes out a few moments later with two small pills that match the ones he gave me earlier and a paper cup filled with water. "Sorry, it's not fancy."

I smile and take the two pills. He sits on the bed beside me and rubs my back. I rest my head on his shoulder. "Tomorrow the Games start," I say.

"Yes."

"I don't think I can do this."

"You don't have much of a choice," Dimitri says softly. Suddenly, he looks tired. "You should… you should change and get in bed. I'm going to lie down too, on the couch."

I gesture to the bed. "I think this bed is big enough for two people, and it is yours. If you want, I can sleep on the couch."

"Your boyfriend may not appreciate that very much."

"He's not my boyfriend anymore," I blurt out. "I haven't had worked up the nerve to tell him that yet." I look down at my hands.

"It's not fair to lead the poor bastard on," Dimitri answers. "He's a good guy…for someone else."

I raise an eyebrow. "Not Capitol enough for you, either eh?"

Dimitri lies back on the bed, stretches, and closes his eyes. "No, you need and deserve a real man."

A real man. What constitutes as one of those? All of men I've met have had an ulterior motive. Even Graham did, I guess. He was nobody from District 3, and when he dated me, that changed. He always did make snide remarks about my status. I shake my head. I don't want to think about it. Capitol men were so… fussy, much like their female counterparts.

I kick off my heels and go change my clothes in the bathroom. I'm sure Dimitri would have been perfectly fine with my changing in front of him. In fact, he probably would probably enjoy it. However, I am still trying to maintain some of my dignity. What counts as dignity here? I wonder. There is so much corruption and we dress up young adults like stars and then send them to an arena to die. Some die with no honor left, their death is for sport. I look at myself in the mirror. My black eye is still obvious. Katniss had several good reasons for wanting to shoot me, Dimitri or any of the other Gamemakers instead of whatever she aimed her arrow for.

I slip out of my dress and into my borrowed clothes. The shirt hangs loosely off my body, and I have to roll the black pants at the waist so they stay up. I put the shirt up to my face and breathe in Dimitri's scent. It is comforting and for the first time, I feel almost safe in this place. Maybe, I can pretend that Dimitri cares about me, and I'm not some prize.

"Hey sweetheart, did you fall in?"

"No."

"Do the clothes fit?"

I open the door and walk out of the bathroom, holding my arms out to the side. I still step on the hem of my pants. The crotch hangs down to my knees. "I think they need to be altered a little bit."

He grins. "Sorry I didn't have anything more your size."

The bed is already turned down. Dimitri has stripped down to only his boxers and lays on top of the goldenrod colored comforter. Late afternoon sunlight stretches across the floor. He pats the bed. "Come on, let's sleep."

"What time are the interviews?" I ask. I drape my dress over a chair. The same chair that Dimitri has thrown his clothes that he wore to today's meeting.

"Seven, seven-thirty, I think." He says. "But you know we have to watch them."

I nod. My grandmother would turn on the television, mute the volume, and not allow us, later only I, to watch anything related to the Hunger Games. Usually, when these events would take place, she would send us to our rooms. As I got older, we would turn on the television and played piano pieces that we thought suited the tributes. An anthem for the fallen. I think of my grandmother, and how she must be on pins and needles for her tributes. I am grateful to not be in her shoes. Yet, I am in the role of a god and if I don't like the way the tributes are acting, I can fix it. The thought is terrifying, as I slip into bed beside Dimitri.

I wonder how Dimitri feels about playing god in the arena. He was in that arena once. Does he feel like he has to make the tributes' lives as bad as the Gamemakers made his? Is the reason he is a Gamemaker is for revenge? Dimitri interrupts my thoughts. "If I start cuddling with you just push me away." He sets his alarm. "I'll try to stay on my side of the bed."

"I'll take your word for it," I say, "And I'll try to do the same." I pull the covers up to my chin. The sheets are cool against my hot body.

"Oh, I wouldn't mind," Dimitri answers softly. I can hardly hear him.

"What?"

"I mean… I… Nothing." He clears his throat. "I didn't say anything."

"Yes, you did."

"It's not a big deal. Close your eyes." He rolls over and his back is facing me.

I reach over and stroke a tendril of his long hair. "Do you want me to come over there and cuddle with you?"

"Absolutely not. I am your mentor," he begins. The tips of his ears turn red.

What I want is not appropriate for what we are supposed to be. I want nothing more to be in his arms and be close to him. Is it out of pity? Or am I missing my relationship that disintegrated into nothing. I haven't heard from Graham. I guess I should be glad. It should make things easier.

"If you don't shut up I'm going to kick you out." He rolls over and props his head in his hand, grinning. I think he's flirting with me.

I stick my tongue out at him. "You will not. You have to make sure I don't slip into a coma. It's only been twenty-four hours since I hit my head. How long do you have to baby sit me?"

"Forty-eight hours." Dimitri sticks his tongue out. He scoots closer to me and his body heat spreads to my side of the bed. "Go to sleep, Carmen, and keep your hands to yourself."

"You like me," I taunt. "You like to think you're tough, but you're just a big pussy cat."

He shrugs. "It's my job to take care of you. Nothing more."

Three hours later, Dimitri shakes my shoulder, waking me from bizarre and vivid dreams. The room is dark and I can hear the muffled sounds of a siren from the street below. Someone is playing loud music in the next apartment over. "Wake up, sleepy," he murmurs. He doesn't sound very awake either.

I stretch and roll over, landing on Dimitri.

"You were supposed to stay on your side of the bed," I mutter. His body presses against mine as he rolls over and turns on the bedside lamp.

"This is my bed. I can do whatever I want." He yawns and stretches. "You sleep okay?"

"Fine except for the weird dreams."

"It's the pills," he answers. He puts his hands behind his head. His vibrant red hair splays on the pillow behind him.

I follow his gaze to a spot on the ceiling. "You think so?"

"They always do that. At least they aren't making you high like morphling. I've had some really bad trips on that shit, when they've given it to me for injuries and other things. I hate taking it and any other medications like sleep aids. It makes the nightmares more real and harder to escape." Dimitri's stomach growls loudly, interrupting our conversation. He looks at his watch. "It's been a long time since lunch. Are you hungry?"

I nod. He gets up and presses a few buttons and two plates filled with steak and twice baked potatoes covered in sour cream and butter. There is also a small salad on the side covered in balsamic vinaigrette, silverware, and a large bottle of red wine and two glasses. He picks up the plates and I follow him outside on this his balcony. The balcony overlooks the street. The cars below us look like ants. The weather is warm, but there is a slight breeze. The sun has almost all the way set. The tributes prepare to make their final impressions on the people on the Capitol.

"Hang on, I have some candles too," Dimitri says. "We should make it a little romantic."

I giggle. "I feel like you've almost planned this."

"Well, it's my fault that you're missing the interviews and big parties. I have to make it up to you somehow." He disappears into the apartment and appears a few moments later, carrying two large candles. He lights them and then sits down.

"This is the most romantic thing someone has ever done for me. Thank you." I say softly.

Dimitri cuts into his steak. His face colors slightly in the candlelight. "Really? How did you meet Graham, anyway?"

"In my Philosophy class two semesters ago, we worked in a group project together." I take a bit of my steak.

"Who did most of the work?"

"Me."

Dimitri pours me a small amount of wine before filling his glass. "What was the draw?" he asks.

I shrug. "He asked me out for coffee and we went to a few parties together. I don't have many friends," I admit. "My friends said that he was good for me. No other guys would pay any attention to me." I don't tell him about the parties where Graham tried to keep forcing drinks on me until I was so drunk that I couldn't stand.

"So you settled?" Dimitri says. He takes a few bites of his steak.

I pick at my food. "He seemed nice enough at the time. My mother hated him."

"Rebelling, a little?" He grins.

"He was the only one who seemed to know I existed. Most of the other guys used me to get to my mother." I take a bite, my food takes like nothing. "Graham seemed not to be interested in her."

"Men are scum," Dimitri interrupts. "Trust me, I know. I am one. We are complete bastards who only want sex. Well, most of us anyway. We only see the pretty face and not the personality and beauty behind the face."

"How do I avoid them?" I ask.

He shrugs. "How do they make you feel? If they make you feeling like you need to take a shower afterwards, that's probably a sign they're bad news. Sometimes they are more subtle. I think this is where Graham falls in."

"What about you?" I ask. The flavor has started to come back into my food.

Dimitri pauses. "I like to think I'm subtle and also not an asshole. I am also too old to be playing those games and chasing after those kinds of girls. Women can be just as bad, you know?"

"What do you look for in woman?" I ask, "Besides them not being from the Capitol?"

"I've actually never thought about it before. I've been so focused on staying alive that I haven't thought about being in love. Love is… overrated. Romance is stupid and a waste of time."

The sun has fully set and the lights come on in the buildings around us. Traffic has picked up, which can be attributed to people in the Capitol going to parties or to the large studio to watch the interviews. There is a light breeze which will cover any words that we don't want heard.

"No, it's not." I argue. "Well, my mother has had numerous affairs with high profile members of society. I guess I am a little jaded.

"Capitol marriages and relationships are messy. Hell, just living in the Capitol is messy."

"Sometimes, I wish I could leave," I admit.

"Where would you go?" His eyes focus on me intently.

"There is nowhere to go."

We are silent as we look over the bustling city. Honestly, I don't really want to know the state of my parent's marriage. Male visitors sneaking out in the morning light have been a constant theme in my life. I would be eating breakfast and there would be a man with rumpled clothing and lipstick on his collar going home to his wife and three children. His name was Abram Colossi and he was a fellow Gamemaker. I played with his daughter Celeste. I already considered my mother to be a whore, but I don't want to really know how much. Maybe she is secretly a prostitute.

Dimitri breaks into my thoughts. "You wanna go to the arena?"

"What about the interviews?" I ask.

"Fuck that shit." He pours himself another glass of wine. "Let's go somewhere where we can see the stars and get the hell away from these bastards."

You can't see the stars from the Capitol because of all of the light pollution. The moon is covered in a murky cloud caused by pollution so it looks like a smear of white in the sky. The Capitol consists of mostly concrete. The builders seem to eradicate any trace of nature inside the Capitol's boarders, deeming it a threat to their manmade domain. The arena has a manmade sky which, in previous years, has shown thousands of stars.

"We can get in?"

He snorts. "We're Gamemakers, aren't we? What do you say? Just you and me, pretend to be in the Districts again?"

"I need to change." I hurry back inside and grab my keys to let myself back into my apartment. I change into a pair of jeans and a semi-low cut purple shirt, tossing my borrowed clothing onto my bed. Dimitri probably would mind if I gave it back to him later. In record time, I am ready.

It's not that I am excited to go the place where I am responsible for watching children from the Districts die; it's the fact that I am spending time with Dimitri. There is a message from Graham on my phone. I think nothing of it and leave it on my counter. My bullet proof vest is thrown over the back of the recliner with, of course, a kitten sleeping on it.

When I go back to Dimitri's apartment, he is putting things in a small backpack. "I thought we could take dessert. You like chocolate cake, right?"

"You talk like you hate romance and love, but really I think you're lying," I chuckle. I lean against the counter. "You wooed me with a candlelight dinner on your balcony."

"Like I said; don't get any ideas about me. You aren't going to be able to change my mind about love or Capitol women," Dimitri answers. He zips up the bag and shoulders it. "Don't even try. That isn't a challenge. I'm serious. Don't waste your time with me."

"So there really is no one?"

"I'm single. Are you happy now?" He flips on the television and mutes the volume. "The interviews come on in an hour. It takes about that much time to get to the arena, depending on the traffic and how fast we drive."

"Are you okay to drive?" I ask, wondering if he has had too much to drink or if he is truly this impulsive.

He waves me off. "You like motorcycles?"

"I've never been on one."

A mischievous smile creeps across his lips making him appear almost sinister. "How adventurous are you feeling tonight?"

**A/N: Please Review.**


	16. Chapter 16

**I do not own the Hunger Games, but I do own this story and the characters in it.**

**Chapter 16**

"I want to feel alive," I whisper. These last couple of days I feel like I have been walking around in a stupor. For once, I want to feel adrenaline; the flight or flight feeling that our ancestors felt. The feeling the tributes will feel in the arena as they escape the exploding mines and the weapons of the others. I want to feel what he felt. Most of all, I want to feel free.

"That's my girl," he murmurs. "I like you. In the words of Haymitch, you've got spunk. Although, you might be a little chilly in that shirt."

"I don't mind the cold."

He reaches out tentatively and touches my shoulder, his face filled with mixed emotions. Then he takes a deep breath. "I have a leather jacket you can borrow. Don't forget your bullet proof vest."

"I have it right here." I put it on and buckle the straps. Dimitri tugs on the straps to make sure they are secure as if I don't know how to buckle my own straps. I should be offended the he thinks I am unable to do so. It's cute, in an odd way, his protective mother hen mechanisms. He puts his own and I tug on his straps, mainly to annoy him.

"Very funny," he smirks.

"You like it."

He disappears into his room, coming out a few minutes later with a black leather jacket, a helmet, and gloves. "This is my favorite jacket."

"You wear a lot of black." I say as he helps me into the jacket. It's a little big, but not as nearly as big as the shirt I wore earlier. I breathe in deeply the smell of leather and his scent. I make a mental note to go buy my own jacket in case these rides begin to be more frequent. If things continue to go well between us.

"It's the color of my soul," he says sarcastically.

I raise my eyebrows. "You have no soul?"

"I am a soulless bastard. Now you know my secret. Let's go." He tosses me a helmet. I almost don't catch it. It is heavy.

Our floor is deserted. Even the stationed Peacekeepers by the elevators are gone. They are probably enjoying the festivities of the evening. It's probably better that no one sees us. They might assume things.

Dimitri presses the button for the elevator. The doors open revealing Contessa, her two male escorts, and Emily, who I haven't talked to since the morning after the party. Contessa's eyes widen when she sees the two of us. "You aren't going to the interviews dressed like that, are you?"

"No, we're not going." Dimitri answered. "Carmen has a concussion, remember? I can't risk Katniss Everdeen giving her another concussion."

"But that's not…"

"That's unfortunate," Emily says. Instantly, I wonder what she's doing with Contessa. "Where are you two going, anyway?"

"Out for Chinese food. The medication does weird things. I'm having cravings, and poor Dimitri, I've just been driving him crazy. So we're getting out of the house," I lie. I don't care if they think I'm crazy, I just want to get out of this place. Away from them.

"She's been beating me," Dimitri answers. "If you want, I can show you my bruises."

"And knowing you, you probably deserve those bruises. If you want, I can come over and take care of you," Emily interrupts.

"We're having our own little party afterwards," Contessa adds. "It's a shame that you aren't feeling well enough to go to the interviews. They are such fun. You're welcome to come if you feel up to it."

I shrug, and shift the heavy helmet to my other arm. "Shit happens. And really, I'm fine. I just need to get out of the apartment and breathe a little."

I need to get away from the concrete and be sitting in the grass under the stars. Even if it is manmade, it has to be better than this. I feel betrayed by Emily. I consider Contessa to be an enemy.

Emily touches my shoulder. Alcohol is strong on her breath. "Well, you have my number if you need someone to take care of you."

"Me too," Contessa chimes in. "Did you get my flowers?"

"Yes, they were lovely," I say. "Have a good time tonight."

"Have fun in your foursome," Dimitri snarks. The elevator doors close in front of their shocked faces.

"Dimitri," I scold.

"What? You know it's true. Did you see how those guys were eyeing that Emily girl?"

"She's plastered."

"It's not your problem. She's made her choice. You can't protect her from everything. Pity that she's with Contessa though, she could have picked a better partner." Dimitri answers. He presses the button and we fly down to the lower level. The doors open and we are in an almost empty parking garage. Dimitri's motorcycle is parked next to his car.

Dimitri puts on his helmet and pulls on his gloves. I do the same. Nervousness bubbles up in my stomach. He hands me the backpack. "You're going to have to wear this, is that okay? Otherwise, you won't be able to hang on to me very well."

"That's fine," I say. I expect it to be heavy, but it isn't. There is maybe three items at the most in the bag.

He throws his leg over the motorcycle and gestures to me to do the same. I put my leg over the middle of the bike, clinging to Dimitri. My leg gets stuck and I do this strange hopping motion, until I am able to slide my body onto it. He laughs a hardy laugh that echoes around my head.

"I can hear you in my helmet," I say shocked.

"Yeah, I forgot to mention that. Sorry. It's if we want to talk while riding. See, if you didn't have this feature, we wouldn't be able to hear each other over the bike or wind on the road."

"Makes sense."

"You might want to hang on to me," He turns the ignition on the motorcycle and it roars to life. I can feel the energy as it quivers in between my legs. I wrap my arms around his waist. I remember the day as he sped past Avis and I with his hair spilling out from underneath his helmet and I saw him without the garish makeup and then he asked me to tie his tie. I can't help but feel like that was some sort of test.

We speed through the tunnel out into Capitol traffic. As we come out of the long tunnel and turn onto the main street, we are met by long lines of traffic. Exhaust fills the air, making it hard to breath.

"It figures," Dimitri groans. "Fucking Capitol traffic."

We'll get there," I say quietly.

The citizens are decked out in their best. Garish acid yellows, blues and sequins reflect back in the car lights. Music is turned up loud in a convertible car that pulls up next to us. There are four people that look about my age, laughing and drinking out glasses.

"_She won't ever get enough_

_Once she gets a little touch_

_If I had it my way_

_You know that I'd make her say_

_Ooooooh_,"

Dimitri sings along to the blaring music. "I really hate this song."

"Me too." I wrap my arms tighter around him.

"Nice bike!" A girl wearing a periwinkle feather dress calls out the window.

Some bimbo wearing a neon orange dress that makes her look like a traffic cone yells. "You should take me for a ride some time."

"No thanks," Dimitri calls back. "I'll pass."

"I bet you're hot," the traffic cone yells.

"I'm taken."

"You are not." I shoot back.

Dimitri chuckles. "She doesn't know that. I wouldn't touch that shit with a ten foot pole. Plus if she saw my face, she'd run away screaming."

"You wanna race?" A guy yells. Obviously, he is jealous that one of his girls is talking to Dimitri. He is wearing a periwinkle colored suit with a white ruffled shirt underneath. Sweat drips off his face, making his matching eyeliner smear down his face. He matches the first girl that spoke to us.

"Nah, I'm good," Dimitri answers. "Wouldn't want to make you look to bad in front of your women."

"Come on." The guy insists.

"Nah, I really don't." Dimitri answers. The light turns green and we follow the long line of cars out of the heart of the Capitol. There are many important people who live on the outskirts of the Capitol and probably just as many parties happening there. That's probably where the crazy man in the convertible with his friends are going.

"Pussy," the driver spits. He is very, very drunk.

"You know, I usually don't incite these kinds of reactions when I go out in public," Dimitri says.

"It's the bike." I look behind us and the driver cuts into our lane and is following closely behind us, almost riding Dimitri's tailpipe. I cling tighter to Dimitri. "Can you drive a little faster?"

"What? Is this bastard scaring you?"

"He's making me a little nervous, yes." My hands find their way into his jacket pockets. We are stuck at another stop light, and the car cuts over back into the other lane so that they are beside us. The girl in the blue is yelling at the driver for acting stupid.

"Are you sure he isn't like, one of your exes or something?"

"I'm positive," I answer. "My exes are a lot better looking."

"Ouch. Those are fighting words."

"Don't worry, I can out run him." Dimitri revs the engine. The other car follows suit. As soon as the traffic light turns green and the traffic begins moving. Dimitri moves easily through the cars. We pick up speed as we move towards the highway and away from the Capitol traffic. The other car struggles to keep up with us and we soon lose them. The traffic lessens the further we drive. Here the roads become bumpy and the moon less of a smear, but there are still no stars. Later, after the Games are over, the roads will be paved and this arena will become a reminder to the Capitol and Districts. It will also become a field trip attraction for Capitol children, who will be groomed to see the Hunger Games as a sport like their parents. District children would never think to come here. To them, the Capitol is some mythical place that they are trained to hate and fear.

In District 8, you couldn't see the stars very well because of the factories that belched steam and smoke into the air both day and night. The Victor's village was on the outskirts of the District and so we were able to see some. Grandmother said that what we could see was nowhere close to what existed. She told us stories about something called the Milky Way. She said it looked like a pathway that stretched across the skies. She had never seen it, of course, but had seen pictures in a book before they were all destroyed.

On the outskirts, there was a fence that separated us from the wilderness. I always wondered what was on the outside. I wanted to know if that pathway of stars existed there. Nothing else mattered. We could never leave, the fence was electrified and you could hear it humming if you got close to it. Sometimes, a too curious child would get too close and get zapped.

The air smells cleaner here and there are no other vehicles on the road to slow us down. Dimitri stops at a toll booth and shows the two Peacekeepers our badges. In a matter of moments we descend into the tunnel that will allow access to the arena. This is a different tunnel than Avis and I used.

"I don't remember this tunnel," I say.

"There's several ways to get here, mostly by tunnels. There are three different access tunnels from the Capitol with several different access points. Avis took the long one which is close by your mother's house. We could have taken one that would have put us here in about twenty minutes." Dimitri says. "But what's the fun of riding a motorcycle if you can't feel the wind on your face?"

"Touché."

"And there's something nice about using the old highways. It takes me back to a simpler time in our history. The tunnels make me claustrophobic."

We arrive into the parking garage. There are a few cars scattered in the parking spots but I do not recognize them. Dimitri parks close to the entrance. My legs are sore as I dismount from the bike. I didn't realize I was clenching them around the body of the bike.

"So what do you think? Dangerous enough for you?" Dimitri asks. He takes off his helmet and shakes his head. Red waves cascade over his shoulders.

"I like it."

He wraps an arm around my shoulders as we walk into the arena. The arena is very secure, and so the two of us have to jump through a myriad of tests, including retina scans. The Gamemakers don't want anyone who isn't supposed to be here to be in here in fear that they will some how plant something to disrupt the Games.

The Peacekeeper at the gate points at me. "I need to see what is in your bag."

I unshoulder the bag and open it and take out the contents. Two pieces of chocolate cake, forks, napkins, a thermos of milk, a flask filled with whisky, clove cigarettes, a lighter and a small flashlight. The Peacekeeper gives us a weird look when he opens both the thermos and the flask.

"I need them to function, ok? I have issues." Dimitri complains. "I like to drink them together."

I make a face. "Ew."

"You can't work on an empty stomach," Dimitri says. "How do you expect us to be productive without chocolate cake?"

The Peacekeeper gives back the items and stares sternly at us both. "Just don't leave any of it in the arena."

Dimitri stuffs the items back into the backpack. Then he shoulders the backpack over his shoulder and takes my hand. I'm sure the Peacekeeper thinks we are a couple, but it doesn't matter. Who is he going to tell? And besides, we pay his salary.

We take the elevator up to the first level. The doors open and we are standing in the wheat. As the metal doors close, they melt away behind us as if they had never existed. The moon is bright and overhead I can see millions and millions of stars. A light breeze plays through the tops of the wheat. Dimitri takes my hand and we make our way through the tall stalks, careful not to leave any trace. I can't see the top of the Cornucopia from where we stand. Suddenly, Dimitri lets go of my hand and takes off at a slow jog.

"Wait!" I cry, trying to match his pace. My lungs burn. I am out of shape. Dimitri doesn't run in a straight line, but rather, zigzags. I don't know how long he jogs for, but suddenly he disappears from view.

"Dimitri!" I yell. I am afraid that the arena has swallowed him or something is not disabled like Dimitri says they would be. For all I know, there could be trap doors that appear and send the tributes to a different part of the arena.

My call is answered by hysterical laughing. I push myself a little further and almost trip over him. This makes him laugh harder. I stumble and land on my hands and knees. I scramble back to my feet, but trip on a rock and fall back down.

"Easy sweetheart. I don't need you to get another concussion on me."

"Don't scare me like that!" I pull him to his feet and help him dust off the chaff from the wheat from his jacket.

"I fell over a stupid rock." He picks it up and throws it far away from us. "I may have rolled my ankle."

"What are rocks doing in the wheat?"

He grips my shoulder and tests his ankle with a few ginger steps. "This is the Games, anything is possible. Rocks can live anywhere the Gamemakers put them."

I know he's right. They were put there to slow down the tributes, either from each other or something else. A chill runs down my spine, even though I am sweating.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I think I just twisted it. It'll be ok. Just look out for the rocks." Dimitri takes off his leather jacket and ties it around his waist. I mimic him. My fingers find his and he gives me a small smile.

We continue to pick our way carefully through the wheat. I hold onto Dimitri's arm and breathe in deeply, allowing the clean air to fill my lungs. I wonder if this is what the air in the wilderness outside of District 8 feels like. There are only a few wisps of clouds in the sky and the stars twinkle down around us. Dimitri changes our direction and the arena begins to slope upwards. For a while, I forget that we are in the arena. It isn't until the top of the Cornucopia appears over the horizon that I am thrust back into reality.

"You can almost forget that you're in a man made structure," I say. Where we are, there is a small babbling brook, maybe a foot across.

"Yeah," Dimitri agrees. He squats and washes his face, then cups his hands and takes a drink. The water must be safe to drink, that'll be the only way the tributes will stay alive. I cup my hand and take a drink of the water. It is sweet and cold. Quite frankly, it is the best water I have ever tasted.

Dimitri chuckles. "I have to hand the Gamemakers this; they do give the tributes good water to drink. Most of the time. Though in my Games you had to be careful, some of the water was safe to drink and some wasn't."

"How could you tell?"

"Well, if there were fish or any other wildlife, you could almost guarantee it was safe. No living creature would live in poisonous water."

"Unless they were mutts."

"There were fish with teeth one year," Dimitri mused. "I guess I got lucky that I didn't drink the wrong water."

"I almost wish we brought an empty thermos."

We climb the slope to the Cornucopia. The moonlight shines eerily off its gold exterior. Supplies for the tributes has already been arranged for tomorrow. Dimitri throws a rock and it bounces harmlessly off the ground.

"The mines aren't activated. I just wanted to make sure."

We climb to the top of the structure. The surface is ribbed allowing us hand holds to help us climb. A few minutes later, we are on the top of the structure. There is a flat platform on top. The arena stretches expansively around us. From our vantage point, I can see the forest, wheat and even the lake. Crickets chirp loudly. Dimitri wipes his forehead and sits down. He starts unpacking the backpack. He pulls out the thermos of milk and two pieces of chocolate cake. "You do like chocolate and milk right?"

"Always." I sit cross legged beside him. The breeze is a little stronger up here, and I put his jacket back on. He hands me a fork and we begin to eat our cake. Both of us hold the container which contains two large slices of the rich cake. I'm not sure I'll be able to eat all mine.

"Did you see the look on the Peacekeeper's face when he opened the thermos of milk?" I say.

"It was beautiful. These Capitol types don't understand the wonderfulness about milk and how great it goes with chocolate cake." He opens it and takes a small sip.

"Milk was a treat in District 8," I say. "I'd never had it until I went there."

"Really? I thought the Capitol had everything?"

"Sometimes I wish I didn't live here because everything is so complicated here. You always have to look over your shoulder because someone's always after you."

"You too?" Dimitri says softly. "Who's after you?"

I shrug. "It just feels like that sometimes. Who's after you?"

"No one, I hope," Dimitri says around a mouth of cake. "I hope those days are over. But as a victor, you can never tell. Living in the Districts seems like a piece of cake, pardon the irony, compared to here and now."

I know he's right. When we stayed with my grandmother, there were certain things we could and couldn't do. The pressure must be unbearable sometimes. There's so much pressure on them to have their tributes succeed.

"Why don't we pretend that we're not from the Capitol tonight," I say "And this isn't the arena, it's the wilderness."

Dimitri points his fork at me. "And I'm just Dimitri and you're just Carmen."

"Right."

"Whatever happens in here stays in between us?"

I nod. "And the cameras in the arena."

Dimitri snorts, "No one's going to look at the footage of the wind in the trees and wheat the night before the Games. It's not like we're discussing staging a coupe or anything."

"Or singing taboo songs."

"Or fucking on top of the Cornucopia." Dimitri clears his throat. "Sorry, just had to put that one out there."

I take another bite of my cake. "I thought you weren't into Capitol girls?"

"I'm not. That's why I was saying…" He blushes. "I'm your mentor. It wouldn't be right, anyway. Well, since you're just Carmen, I'll just say that I'm not really your type."

"You've known me less than a week, and I'm not really into one night stands. You're not going to get lucky tonight," I say. "Sorry."

He shrugs and licks his fork. There is a smear of chocolate on the corner of his upper lip. "So do you know any constellations?"

"I've never really seen the stars. The smoke in District 8 blocked most of them, and you can't see much in the Capitol. You've got chocolate all over your face," I chuckle.

Dimitri tries to lick it off with his tongue, but only succeeds in smearing it all further over his top lip. "Is it gone?"

"You've only made it worse."

"Well, shit." He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Now is it gone?"

I shake my head. "Nope. Now it's smeared on your cheek."

He groans. "God, you can't take me anywhere."

"At least it's not on your shirt." I lick my thumb and scrub the chocolate off the corner of his lip. My thumb lingers on the raised parts of his scars. I stare at his lips, wondering how soft they would be on mine. I shouldn't. He sets down the container that holds the cake and scoots closer to me. A tendril of his long hair falls over my hands. Dimitri puts his hand behind my waist. Our eyes meet, and for an instant I have the distinct impression he wants to kiss me. My heart goes to my throat. He shouldn't be having this strong of an effect on me. I want to kiss him. He moves closer to me. I could just…

Dimitri clears his throat and straightens his legs and leans back on his hands. "So, what constellations do you know?"

I tell him about the pathway of star known as the Milky Way. I point out the Big and Little Dipper. "There's also something in the night sky where different colors of greens, blues and purples shine in the night sky. I've never seen those either."

"The only colors I've seen in the night sky are the orange glows from the factories in District 8. But I can teach you what I know?" He takes a sip from the flask. I drink the rest of the milk. Some of it drips out of the side of my mouth and on to his jacket.

Dimitri laughs and hands me a napkin. "It looks like we can't take you anywhere either."

"We're two of a kind," I agree. "More alike than we'd like to think."

"I don't know about that." He tucks a strand of stray hair of behind his ears. "It'd be nice to relate to someone other than past victors. The arena, it changes you. The things you see… you can't take them back. It's different from watching on the television. The Gamemakers edit the majority of it. You're detached. Most people don't understand what it's like to watch someone die or kill another human being."

"Did you kill anyone?"

"Three people in the arena." He looks sad so I place my hand on his. "I regret it, but if I didn't they would have killed me. Their faces haunt my sleep every night along with the mutts the Gamemakers created and sent after us."

"I wonder if the Gamemakers change?" I say, "Since we're so close to it."

He shrugs and taps the bottom of his cigarette pack against the heel of his hand. Then he takes the slim brown cylinder, puts it in his mouth and lights it. Sweet smoke fills the air around us as he inhales, then tips his head back and exhales the smoke towards the stars. "I doubt it. You've seen how most of them are."

"I didn't know you smoked," I say.

"Only when I'm stressed or it the Hunger Games." He taps the ash off the end. "I probably won't sleep much tonight out of habit."

"Did you sleep the night before your Games?"

"No, I didn't sleep much at all. I spent most of my time on the roof, much to my mentors' dismay. I watched the sun rise because it might have been my last. It was the most beautiful sunrise I'd ever seen. The way the sunlight came over the tall buildings and the shimmer of the dew on the railing. I noticed things that I had noticed before." His voice trails off and he takes another drag on his cigarette.

The moon glitters on the surface of the lake. I scoot closer to him and our shoulders touch. Tonight, we are only Dimitri and Carmen. Regular people. Not Gamemakers or Capitol residents.

He points to a line of diagonal stars above the tall stretching branches of the forest.. They seem to be brighter than the rest. "See those three stars that are in a straight line above the trees?"

"Those?" I place my finger on beside his.

"Yes, those. That's Orion, the hunter's belt. The small clusters are his sword sheath." Dimitri also points out his shoulders. "If you move up to the south, you can see his sword."

"That faint line of three stars?" I answer, pointing to area diagonal to the belt.

"Yes. On the other side is his shield."

"What was your weapon in the arena?" I ask, still staring at Orion.

"I thought we were only going to be Dimitri and Carmen tonight?"

"Well, I thought since we were discussing Orion…."

"Knives," He interrupts. "Adrenaline and sheer luck. Occasionally episodes of bloodlust." He stubs his cigarette onto the metal top and tosses the butt over the side.

"Won't they get mad at your for that."

He shrugs. "I don't care. They're going to send Avoxes in and comb the arena for any trace of human shit anyway. Might as well give them something to do. And really, what are they going to do to me that they haven't done already?"

Graham's words echo in my head about him being confined to a mental asylum. Was that a result of his time in the arena or something else? I shrug and turn my attention back to the sky. It doesn't matter, at least right now. "What others do you know?"

"Well, there's Sagittarius, the archer who is half man and half horse. The Katniss of the skies. Though I'm pretty sure back in the day, the constellation was male."

"Where's he?"

Dimitri studies the sky before answering me. He points to a group of stars on the opposite side of the sky from Orion. They are in more of a geometric shape pattern. "He's right there next to Scorpius, the scorpion."

"He doesn't look like much."

Dimitri snorts and leans back on his hands, straightening his legs and crossing his ankles. His right hand is behind my back so I'm almost leaning on his arm. "Centaurs are badass. It's a shame that the Capitol controls so much of our culture. I know you would probably like some more freedom with your music."

"It's not so much the classical music that incites riots. It's the old songs with words."

"Back in District 5, there wasn't much light pollution and I'd often go out in the wind turbine fields with my girlfriend and we'd lay on a blanket, look at the stars, and make out." He grins impishly. "Those we some good times."

"Where is she now?" I ask.

"She could be dead for all I know. When I came back from the Games, I broke her heart. She couldn't understand…" His voice trails off.

"Your scars." I supply.

"Yeah. Something like that. " He falls silent and looks at the skies. I lean my head against his shoulder and close my eyes. "I was seventeen, stupid, and afraid."

"And you had every right to be." I want to reach over and comfort him, hold him. I can't. He wouldn't let me. "I can't imagine."

He doesn't answer, but stares up at the sky. Finally, he turns to face me. "Why do you always look at me like that?"

"What do you mean?" I try to think how I have possibly offended him. My Grandmother told me I shouldn't pity him. While I do feel sorry for him, I have made a point not to say anything demeaning to his Victor status. Have I? Surely, he would have let me know with some cutting remark.

"I don't know. You just have that look."

I blush. "You're going to have to be a bit more specific."

"That look girls have when they want… Well." He taps his cigarette container on the palm of his hand. "It's not important. I'm just surprised, that's all."

"Dimitri. I'm sorry if I've offended you. I haven't meant…" I stammer. I have no idea what he's talking about.

He places a finger on my lips and leans close to me. The sweet aroma of cloves lingers on his hair and clothes. "I just want to know…. why you are so willing to trust me."

"Do I have much of a choice? I mean, we're kind of in this together. And you haven't given me any reason not to trust you, right?"

"I suppose." Dimitri's fingers find their way into my hair and he moves closer so that our bodies are touching and right arm is wrapped around my waist. His lips are only inches away from mine.

"You could have easily left me at the hospital and at the mercy of the other Gamemakers' care, but you didn't. You drove me home, yelled at a Peacekeeper, and helped me take a shower. If it weren't for you, then I probably would still be there covered in punch. That has to count for something."

"You have no idea who I am and what terrible things I've done." In the moonlight, his expression is pained. He looks down into his lap. "I deserve my scars."

"I don't believe that."

He chuckles grimly. "I'm sure there are other people in the Capitol who beg to differ."

"It doesn't matter. Tonight, you're just Dimitri, remember?" I remind him. I cradle the side of his face and feel the unevenness of his scars underneath my fingertips. He tenses under my touch. I want to know how he got them since they are very unique, but you don't ask those kinds of questions in polite conversation. Not to Dimitri Kral. I can't afford to lose him. I am also afraid that he'll brush my hands away, but he doesn't.

"You're not afraid of me?" he whispers. "My scars? My ugly face."

"Should I be?"

"Hypothetically speaking, would you kiss a man that has been tortured and broken by the Capitol? Not out of pity because he's a victor or because you're paying for his affections, but simply because you liked him?"

I kiss him.

**A/n: Please Review. Also I do not own the lyrics to "My First Kiss" – Featuring Ke$ha by 3OH!3. **


	17. Chapter 17

**I do not own the Hunger Games, but this story and the original characters are mine.**

**Chapter 17**

To my surprise, he kisses me back. Dimitri's lips are warm and gentle against mine. They taste like the spicy scent of cloves and chocolate. I shift my position so that I am able to wrap my arm around his neck. My fingers twist around tendrils of his wild red hair. His hand slides up my cheek and into my hair and pulls me closer. There are no ulterior motives in this kiss. It is simply a kiss of affirmation that, yes, you are liked. The idea that I find him extremely attractive is something that I can never tell him, because it would make things entirely too awkward. Nor is it appropriate at this time.

As the kiss comes to a natural end, a sigh escapes his lips. I brush a stray tendril away from his face.

"Carmen." He whispers. "Why did you do that?"

"Well, I'm not paying for your affections, at least as far as I know. I don't pity you. My grandmother said that you should never pity a victor. I have no right because I have no idea what they went through." I tick each excuse off on my hand.

"Your grandmother is a smart woman," He replies, cupping my cheek. For an instant, I think we're going to kiss again.

"So that just leaves the last option." I whisper.

"You like me?" He says skeptically. "I find that very hard to believe."

"You're not giving yourself enough credit."

"You don't know how I…"

You survived the fucking Hunger Games." I interrupt. "You're my mentor. That's enough for me."

"My tributes despised me," He says softly. "Once they were in the arena, I couldn't help them. Out of the six I mentored, only one came out alive and even then it was a fluke."

"You have a better track record than Haymitch Abernarthy. He's had none. You could be him."

"Haymitch may be a bumbling drunk, but he's very smart. He did his tributes a favor. He let them die so they wouldn't have to face the aftermath and guilt of being a victor." Dimitri unscrews the top of his flask and takes a long drink.

"I couldn't." I say. "I'd at least have to try to get them out."

"Sometimes it's not that simple. Some of the kids see it as a death sentence, particularly in some Districts like 11 or 12 so they just give up. There's nothing you can do."

"Most people in the Capitol think that being a victor is glamorous because of the attention and endorsements."

"Yeah, well, it's not." He taps the bottom of the carton on the palm of his hand to pack the tobacco. "The families of dead tributes spit at you when they see you because you let their child die. Then there's the issue of food and money. When you go home, everyone hates you because they're starving and you and your family are not."

"I don't understand. District 5 has the lowest amount of tesserae."

"Well, we have a small population than the rest of the Districts, thanks to a huge tornado that ripped through our district and killed a bunch of people at least ten years ago. The Capitol often doesn't mention that during the reapings. Also, because of where the District is located, we can grow some of our own crops to supplement what is shipped in. The wide open spaces are good for cows."

"A lot of people starved in District 8. I remember sharing my lunch with some of the other girls because they didn't have anything to eat." I lean back on my hands.

"Also, you are not a hero. You symbolize every single thing they hate. It's worse when you become a Gamemaker. Then you are responsible for creating the environment in which their children die. So basically, what I'm saying is that you can never go back to District 8. Once you're a Gamemaker, you play by their rules We are puppets of the Capitol, designed to keep the Districts in check." Dimitri lights another cigarette and takes a long drag; the embers burn brightly at the end of the small stick. Fire scares me.

"And if we don't?"

He draws a line across his neck with his lit cigarette. "That'll be the end of you or someone you know. It can be anyone. Your mother, father, sister, dog. It doesn't matter to them, as long as they find some means of control. But enough about that. Let's talk about you. Tell me about this fire that killed your sister."

"Her name was Kari. She was twelve. There's not much to tell. They never found the source of the fire, or so they say."

"Of course not," Dimitri scoffs. "Just like no one dies of starvation in District 12 or there was no natural disaster in District 5."

"Fires were frequent there. There were scraps of cloth and lint lying around along side, canisters of oil to grease the machines." My voice cracks and I have to turn away from him.

"Carmen." His voice is a whisper as he grips my shoulder. The way he says my name gives me chills.

"There was so much smoke and the flames spread quickly like spilled water. It had to be planned. The majority of the people that worked in this plant were children. She was engulfed in flames. A beam fell down from the ceiling and separated us." I whisper. "Someone had barred the door and we couldn't get it open." I can't stop the tears that flow freely down my cheeks. I can't breathe. The memory of smoke chokes me. I smell my flesh and that of the other children.

Dimitri pulls me into his lap and I bury my face in his shirt. He rocks me from side to side and strokes my hair as if I am a child. Indeed, it feels like I have regressed back to one. He is no stranger to tragedy and he has no room to judge. I know this, but I still feel guilty.

"I'm sorry for dumping this on you, again," I say. "I know that it's nothing compared to what you've endured."

"That's the funny thing about scars. You really can't measure how deeply they cut you." He kisses my forehead. "It's almost impossible to compare your scars to other people's. In more happy news, I think we're even on kisses now."

"Uh… no. You just kissed me again. I think I have one more," I say.

"That doesn't count."

"A kiss is a kiss."

"You're cute." He laughs and squeezes my shoulder. "We should probably make our way back to civilization. Tomorrow this place will belong to the tributes."

I stand up and stretch and then I help Dimitri pick up our few items. It almost feels like a date; first dinner and then gazing semi-romantic under the stars in the 74th Hunger Games arena. I wonder if anyone has proposed in a past arena. Probably so, though most likely not under the stars. Most Capitol residents are too dense to truly appreciate their beauty. To propose here seems like sacrilege. To even care about someone here, is sacrilege.

My mind goes back to what Dimitri said about how the Capitol picks you off if you don't play their games. After the fire, I remember my grandmother acting odd. She would stand in the kitchen in her green polka dotted house dress staring at the window clutching a knife. I remember that day. It was two days after the fire. It was hot and the heat of the fire had not left my skin.

"Grandmother," I say. "When is Father coming to get me?"

"Soon, darling." She keeps her eyes focused on the window. "He is supposed to arrive on the train tonight. Then you will leave in the morning."

"Are you coming with us?"

"It's not safe for me to leave with you."

"Nothing is ever safe enough for you," I complain. "It's always something. Someone is out to get you, me or Kari. Well, you know what, you were right. It's your fault she's dead."

The knife clatters to the floor. My ears ring as she slaps me across the face. "Don't you _ever_ say that to me again. I have tried my damnedest to try to protect you kids. Why do you think you're here instead of rotting in the Capitol summer heat?"

"I hate it here, and I hate you," I spit. Tears well up in my eyes. "I wish I that I had died in the fire."

"Carmen," My grandmother says firmly.

"I want to go home. "I run away from her and slam the door to the small room that my sister and I shared. I don't know how long I slept, except that when my grandmother woke me up for dinner it was dark. When I woke up, the burns on my arms throbbed. The fire had stolen my appetite along with my sister.

Downstairs, my father waited at the table. He looks tired and deep circles are etched under his eyes. His clothes were rumpled, an unusual occurrence for him. His Gamemaker badge hung loosely around his neck and his tie was crooked.

"Father," I cry and run into his arms. He hugs me tightly and starts crying softly.

"This is all my fault," he whispers. "I shouldn't have…"

My grandmother gives him a warning look.

"Well, no matter. At least, you're still alive. That's all that counts." He hugs me again. The next morning when he put me on the train was one of the last times I saw my father. He wasn't the strong man who watched movies with me

It is a rock that brings me back to the arena. Back to Dimitri who grabs my arm to steady me as I stumble over the invisible object in the dark. We stop at the babbling brook and Dimitri rinses out the thermos.

"This is your last chance at arena water until the Games end," he teases.

We both kneel down and take long drinks and wash our faces. I try to wash away the unease. What if that fire was somehow connected to my father being a Gamemaker? I shake my head. Now, I'm just being paranoid. Dimitri probably did more to anger the government than my father. My father tried to keep a clean record in the Capitol and he always encouraged his children to do the same. Surely it was a coincidence. Nothing bad has happened since then.

"You're awfully quiet, Capitol girl," Dimitri says.

"I was just thinking about the fire," I say quietly. "And one of the last times I saw my father. He wasn't himself."

He throws an arm around my shoulders. "You shouldn't let the past bring you down. You couldn't save her. I'm sorry I even made you talk about it."

"A few nights ago, you said something about a database and my father."

Dimitri shrugs. "Just that you could look him up in the Panem phonebook, that's all. Have you ever tried that?"

"But the President's advisors probably aren't listed. I've looked. I've been looking since I was sixteen."

"Well, maybe there's another reason. Maybe he secretly divorced your mother and has a secret second family."

"That's cruel." I shrug of his embrace.

"That's Capitol life, sweetheart. You know that. No one gives a flying fuck about anyone outside of themselves."

"He'd never leave us. He's not like that." I hug myself. Even in Dimitri's jacket, I'm cold. The temperature in the arena must be dropping. It makes me feel paranoid that someone could be watching us here, even though I know that arena is probably deserted at this time at night.

"Grief can do terrible things to a person," Dimitri answers.

"The grief was so bad for my mother that she had that surgery that deletes your memories," I say. "They wanted me to get it too."

We don't speak again until we exit the arena. Dimitri groans as we step into the artificial light of the holding room. He closes the door behind us and we are no longer just Carmen and Dimitri, we are Gamemakers.

"Come on, let's go home," he says. He picks our helmets from the bench and hands one to me. "We have to be back here in a few hours anyway, for the little kiddies."

"You know that my father was a Gamemaker before he was one of Snow's advisors, right?"

"I didn't, but I'm not surprised. Most people appointed by Snow were Gamemakers or high-ranking Peacemakers. He picks people he knows that he has under his thumb. Why?" He wraps his arm around my shoulders. I lean into him, grateful that he's here.

"I want to find him."

"You're better off leaving that pile of snakes lie," Dimitri snorts. "If he's in with Snow, you're not even going to be able to even get close. He might not even remember who you are."

"He won't forget his own kid."

Dimitri turns on his bike before we even get on it. The motor's roar echoes off the surrounding concrete walls. He leans close to me. "Trust me. Snow will do whatever it takes to get complete loyalty from those around him."

"You think….?"

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. I know he's already made the connection of what I'm trying to tell him. "Just forget it, Carmen. You're going to get hurt if you dabble in this anymore."

"But—"

"Trust me. If there's some big conspiracy between your parents and President Snow, you don't want to be in the middle of it." His voice is harsh in the microphone.

Tears stream down my face. I actually had hope that maybe, just maybe, after all these years, I could find my father. When Dimitri had mentioned something about a database containing records, I was hopeful. After all these years, I know that something deeper is going on. Everyone gets holidays and time off, even high government officials like Emily's uncle.

"Maybe he's dead." I sniff. "Or exiled."

"I don't know, baby."

"Can we look?"

We speed the away from the arena and I cling to him like a child. I can never stay strong in front of him. My hands find their way into his front pockets again.

"We can try. Though you might not like what you find." Dimitri's voice becomes stern. "We're playing with fire."

"I know," I whisper.

"When I tell you that you shouldn't look any further, you have to listen to me. It's my duty as your mentor and your friend, to protect you."

"I promise." I don't have any choice. I need him and his knowledge of the Capitol. Maybe some of the other victors know where my father is.

Suddenly, he lets out a hoarse laugh. "I can't believe this, on the eve of the fucking Hunger Games. You're really something, Capitol Girl."

**A/N: Please Review.**


	18. Chapter 18

**I do not own the Hunger Games, but I do own this story and its original characters.**

**Chapter 18**

My sleep is troubled. I toss and turn, and one too many times, I think about Dimitri. Would he really help me find my father after all these years? Is my father even alive? Too soon, morning comes. It dawns with clear with a hot sun and a cloudless blue sky.

"We're experiencing record highs," the news anchor on the television says.  
>We're having a heat wave. Drink lots of hydrating smoothies and stay in today. Oh! And Happy Hunger Games! May the odds…" I cut the television off with one hasty click of my remote and toss it on the couch. I can't deal with this right now. I know what those children are walking into. I know some of the arenas secrets and dangers.<p>

It almost seems cruel, in a way, to send the tributes to die on such a lovely day. Dimitri and I are leaving for the arena at eight. I am both nervous and excited. It is the same feeling I have when I'm about to perform in a recital, but when I play usually no one dies.

There is a knock on my door at seven-thirty while I am eating my cereal. Dimitri stumbles into my apartment. Despite his put-together appearance of a button up black pin stripped shirt with a black vest, I can tell that he is not okay. His eyes are bleary and bloodshot. His hair is pulled up in a messy bun. I cannot blame him. Today, the Hunger Games start.

"Would you like something to eat? I have cereal, eggs, toast, bacon?" I say.

"You might not want to eat too much," he says. He tries to untangle his ankles from the kittens who have suddenly decided to be sociable today.

"You shouldn't be drinking on an empty stomach," I reply.

"Touché." He sets a thermos on the counter. "Water from the arena. It's still cold. I thought you would want it. You can probably get more if you ask Crane nicely."

"At least let me make you a piece of toast," I say.

He waves me away and takes out his flask and takes a sip. "I'm fine. I want to be good and numb for today."

"You're going to eat a piece of toast." I put a slice of bread in the toaster and press the lever of the toaster with added emphasis.

"You're cute," he sneers.

"Thought Capitol girls weren't your type?" The reaction is automatic. I shouldn't taunt him on a day like today, but his bad mood has bled on to me. And while his comments probably aren't directed at me, I still feel like I need to fight back some how.

Dimitri winces. "Are you going to keep throwing that in my face?"

"Are you going to keep bringing up where I'm from?" I set a large glass of water in front of him. "A little water to go with your toast."

"I think I'll keep the whisky."

I put the thermos in my refrigerator. I don't think that water will taste as good as it did last night. It will be tainted by spilled blood. The toast pops up, jolting me out of my thoughts.

"What kind of jam do you want? I have strawberry preserve and grape."

"Strawberry." He chuckles. "This really isn't necessary. I'm fine."

I set the plate in front of him along with the butter and jam. "Do you need me to butter it for you?"

If you can't beat them, kill them with kindness.

"I think I can handle it, thanks." He grins. His mood seems to have lifted a little bit. "You know, I have a hard time staying mad at you."

"You were mad at me?"

"For those two stunts you pulled last night? Yeah. I was a little upset at you. But then, you made me a piece of toast, and I don't know. I'm not pissed any more; I think it might be the alcohol." He takes a bite of his toast.

Last night. My heart drops. "Which things?"

Dimitri licks the jam that has dribbled onto his fingers off of his toast. "Well, you kissing me was one of them. I wasn't expecting that."

I blush and pass him a napkin "But I meant what I said. I do like you. If anything you should take it as a complement."

"You can't do that here," Dimitri reminds me. "We can't be that affectionate with each other in front of the other Gamemakers. They'll assume that I'm not really your mentor and they'll take you away from me."

"But if they watch the footage from last night, and listen to you whine about how you want someone to like you for your Victor's status…"

"Victor's whine about that all the time," he says.

"But…"

"The second one was your father. You should know, or your grandmother should have told you that contemplating conspiracy theories involving the Capitol government is a bad idea. Your mother, grandmother, or at least someone should have also told you that we are watched as close as the tributes. And you have the audacity to do that in the arena."

"I'm sorry," I yell back at him. "You asked me about the fire. I told you. What do you want me to do, lie?" My cereal doesn't taste like anything any more. I push it away. "For what it's worth, the kiss was meant to be a complement."

The anger disappears from his face. Dimitri beckons to me over the bar. I fall into his arms and bury my head into his shoulder. This is becoming a more common occurrence. He strokes my hair, careful of the large goose egg that still lives on the back of my head. "You still owe me a kiss."

"I don't owe you anything."

He points to his cheek. "Lay one on me. Right here, right now."

Talk about sending mixed signals. I shake my head. "What makes you think I'm going to kiss you or do anything of that nature after what you just told me?"

"Well, this is a one-time only deal. No refunds or…rain checks."

"Eat your toast." I push him away. "You're drunk."

"I am not. I'm tipsy at best." Dimitri scowls at me and swallows the last bite of his toast. I am relieved to see him eating and drinking something that isn't alcohol. His sour mood returns and I almost feel guilty. He said he didn't want my affections, so I'm not giving them to him. I'm doing what he asks.

"I need to top off my flask. Do you have any whiskey?"

"Are you going to be able to drive?"

"I'm fine," he insists. "I'm not even slurring. If you had seen what I've seen, you would be drinking too, sweetheart."

"So that's your excuse to get black-out drunk? That pain is still going to be here when you sober up."

"Fuck you, Carmen." he spits, taking another sip out of his flask.

"Fuck you too."

"I can handle my pain just fine. I've been handling it for the last eight years."

"Famous last words," I shoot back. "You're drinking yourself to death."

"If anything, I thought you of all people would understand."

His words cut into my heart.

We don't say much to each other on our way to the arena. I am furious at Dimitri and I know that he is angry at me too by the way he guns the engine of his car and weaves through traffic. His anger should scare me after dealing with my mother's unpredictable anger for so many years, but it doesn't. I wonder if this personality change is what my mother was talking about. She has no room to talk, she completely changed after my sister died. Sometimes, I feel like they loved her more than they loved me. I shouldn't allow Dimitri to drive in the condition that he's in, but a part of me feels like it doesn't matter if we die in a fiery crash. In the Districts eyes, we would deserve that, being Gamemakers and all. We're probably better off that way.

Dimitri hums along to the rock song on the radio. He keeps his eyes firmly on the road as we fly down the highway. The roads are deserted because most people have the day off. He takes sips from his flask as he drives.

"You know that's dangerous?" I say. I don't dare look at him.

"I don't need someone like you, to take care of me. I was doing fine until you showed up in my life."

"That's a lie," I say. "Yesterday, all you wanted was my affection. Now you're a self-serving jerk."

"Better to be self-serving jerk than a broken-hearted jerk. And for the record, I did not enjoy hearing about your daddy issues. You're not going to find him," Dimitri says.

"If you knew that, then why did you offer to help me?" I cry.

He doesn't answer me. He rolls down his widow and shows his badge. I flash mine too, and they let us through. We make our way through the long tunnel. It seems to stretch out for forever.

"Answer me." I demand. Tears well up in my eyes.

"Just stop, Carmen. Just shut up." He says softly. He pulls the flask out of his pocket. "I can't deal with this now."

"No." I yell. I reach over and try to grab it out of his hand. He holds it out of reach, dumping some into his lap. The aroma of alcohol fills the car.

The car swerves crazily, almost hitting the wall. The car behind us beeps loudly.

"Fuck," he swears. "Mind your own business, Carmen."

"You know, maybe if you weren't drinking and driving like some sort of loon," I yell at him. "And trying to kill us both, maybe I would."

He scowls at me as we pull into a parking spot in of the arena. Dimitri screws the top on his flask and tosses it at me. "Hold that. I need to clean my pants. Thanks to you, I look like I pissed myself."

"I'm dumping it out." I announce as I unroll the window. "You don't need any more. You're done. "

"Oh no you don't." He lunges at me, but is held back by his seatbelt. It snaps him back like a rubber band. His hand grazes my boobs, which I'm sure something he wasn't intending to do. "Carmen, don't you dare."

"Watch me," I spit.

He lunges at me again and this time the flask slips out my hand and slides down the window and in between my seat and the door. Dimitri unbuckles his seatbelt. I manage to keep my body in between him and the flask.

"Carmen, I need that!"

"No you don't. You drink too much anyway."

"I do not." He tries to reach around me and I push him away as I try to pick up the flask that has wedged itself there. Dimitri's fingers dig into mine and his weight presses me into the door. All of our struggling to pick up the flask has pushed it deeper in between the seat.

"You're making it worse. It's stuck."

"Well, whose fault is that?"

"Yours."

"Why is it my fault?"

"You gave it to me." I am able to wiggle it out of the tiny little space. Whisky streaks the outside making it hard to keep a steady grip on it. As soon as I hold it up, Dimitri tries to snatch it out of my hands. I'm sure our little tiff looks comical, and I'm sure I'd be amused if I weren't so worried about Dimitri drinking himself to death.

"Stop it," I growl.

I bite his arm and he drops the flask. There is another desperate scramble and I am able to grab it. Yet he is able knock it out of my grasp. The flask slips out of my hand, bounces off the dashboard and falls onto the floorboards. Dimitri and I dive after it at the same time. My forehead hits his chin and I see another flash of stars. That's one too times many this week. I sit back in the seat rubbing my head.

A tap on the window distracts us from the flask. It's Avis. He can't see in because the windows are tinted, but I have an idea of what he's thinking. Dimitri winces and rubs his jaw. A bruise is forming there.

"You deserved that." I say.

"I know. I probably deserve just about everything I get. One piece of advice: Don't show any emotion today. They'll… they'll use it to their advantage." Dimitri says. He leans over and picks up the fallen flask. The he gets out of the car before I can apologize to him.

Show no emotion or affection. Be numb.

Dimitri and Avis share some small talk. Avis seems generally excited for the initial bloodbath. "This one promises to be the bloodiest one yet!" He exclaims. Avis seems to forget that Dimitri is a victor and has already seen his share of blood.

Avis turns to me. "Once you see this, you'll be addicted to watching those little bastards from the Districts die."

Dimitri clenches his jaw, but says nothing. His eyes betray nothing. They are emotionless. My heart aches for him. He takes another drink. It's like he's playing a drinking game with himself. Every time someone says cruel about the Districts or mentions the Games, he takes a drink. If he keeps it up at this rate, he'll be dead.

We step into the elevator and it whisks us to the floor with the conference room that I had first met the other Gamemakers, the place where it had all become real. My heart sinks lower into my stomach as we shoot upwards towards it. My fingers brush Dimitri's in hopes of some reassurance, but there is none. He clenches his fist and shoots me a dirty look. _Don't touch me,_ it says. I look away and focus on the elevator's tiled floor. It's hard to believe that last night we were so affectionate with each other. Kissing, even. Maybe I should have kissed him this morning. Now, I might never know what that may have felt like. _There will be other men_, I try to tell myself.

The doors open and we are met by the overwhelming scent of roses. Dimitri clamps a hand over his mouth and gags. The color has drained from his face.

"Looks like President Snow has arrived already," Avis says. "He presses the button to start the countdown for the tributes. It's tradition."

I follow them to the room. It seems that we the last ones to arrive. President Snow's gaze burrows into mine as he shakes my hand. A fresh white rose is in his lapel. He looks like the snake. I manage a weak smile.

"I heard you received a concussion at the private sessions?"

"That is correct." I don't know what else to say. My mouth goes dry. One of your tributes decided to aim at me because of an event and tradition _you_ carried on. "I'm thankful Dimitri was there…"

He shakes Dimitri's hand. "I understand you protected her from the arrow?" Dimitri isn't able to meet his gaze. President Snow seems to take delight in this. "You're a hero."

"I was just looking out for Carmen, that's all." He says hastily.

President Snow looks at us both grinning. It's the kind of grin that makes your blood run cold. "Well, isn't that a nice change of heart, Dimitri? She looks like she would have that kind of….warming affect on you."

Dimitri doesn't answer. His normal spitfire reactions and remarks are gone. He licks his lips and swallows. "It's been an honor to work with her."

The conference room has been changed since the meeting two days ago. There are ten screens. Eight are focused on key tributes. These are the tributes from Districts, 1, 2, 4, and 12. Right now there is nothing happening, they are in the Launch Rooms. Though right now they all trained on the Cornucopia, and occasionally flicker from camera to camera. The largest is a bird's eye view of the plates and the golden structure. Several of the Gamemakers have computers that also allow them to watch from different angles.

I am seated in between Plutarch and Dimitri. Plutarch gives my shoulder a friendly squeeze. Excitement twinkles in his eyes. "Would you like some wine?" he asks.

"She's not allowed to have alcohol because she's still recovering from her concussion, but I'll take some," Dimitri's voice is raspy and slightly slurred. Plutarch cheerfully pours him a large glass.

I contemplate cutting him off, but I know he would kill me. He's trying so hard to forget. I want to comfort him, but I have no idea how. "Don't you think you should slow down?" I whisper.

"I'm fine, Carmen."

"You didn't bring your laptop! It's okay, I'll share mine so you can get the experience." Plutarch exclaims.

He shows me how I can access it on my own and all of the different features. I can even talk to other Gamemakers through the chat function. A clock ticks down the seconds on the corner of the computer screen. With every second a piece of my heart goes with it. I keep sneaking glances at Dimitri, who stares sullenly ahead, sipping his wine.

Plutarch winks at me. "He does this every Games. He'll be fine. Five minutes!"

President Snow takes his place at the head of the table. Beside him on either side are Seneca Crane and Claudius Templesmith, the announcer. Peacekeepers line the parameter of the room.

"Thank you all for your service as Gamemakers. I hope that you will enjoy this Hunger Games as much as I will." His eyes are trained directly on Dimitri who refuses to meet his gaze. "We hold them every year to remind the Districts that they are under our control." He says a few more things, but they are lost on me.

Claudius takes his place the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begin!"

President Snow presses a large red button. Sixty seconds on the clock. It is the time the tributes have to stay on their metal plates before entering the arena. I clench my hands into fists in my lap. My nails, even though they are kept short, dig into the palm of my hands.

"Ten, nine, eight…" The automated voice counts down.

I take a deep breath and hold it. A hand grips my knee under the table. I don't dare look at Dimitri because President Snow stares at us from his place at the table. I keep my face expressionless. Does he know that Dimitri is resting his hand on my leg? Maybe this is a test.

"Three, two, one…" The other Gamemakers chant.

The gong sounds and the tributes begin running for the supplies scattered around the Cornucopia. Gamemakers cheer as one of the Careers grabs the boy from District 9 and stabs him in the back. He is the first to die. I bite my lip to keep from screaming. My hand finds Dimitri's and I squeeze it.

A tribute that I don't recognize steps on a mine. Their death is a quick explosion a loud boom and their body explodes in a bloody firework of intestines, gut and other parts. A dismembered arm bounces of the camera, leaving a bloody print. The smell of scorched skin fills the room. Plutarch and the others cheer loudly. I blink furiously, trying to repress the tears that threaten to escape. A scream threatens to leave my throat. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from screaming. I taste blood. The metallic smell of blood fills the room, wafting up from the arena. Gallons of it have already been spilled and there is more to come. I feel dizzy. His fingers squeeze mine, bringing me back to reality. The place where we had looked at the stars the night before has been tainted with blood.

Dimitri's hand lets go of mine. I try to grab it back discreetly. _Don't let go of me._ I mentally plead. _I need you_. _Dimitri._

Loud retching fills the room, followed by the putrid smell of vomit. Dimitri is bent over his chair spilling the contents of his stomach on the floor. I touch his shoulder, but he doesn't seem to notice. Several of the Gamemakers wrinkle their noses at the smell. Contessa actually gags.

"Get him out of here," Seneca orders.

Dimitri vomits again. This time on the Peacekeeper's shoes whose job it is to escort him out of the room. I recognize him as the one who gave us trouble in the parking garage when Dimitri took me home after I had gotten my concussion. That would be some comfort to Dimitri, at least.

An Avox hurries in and begins cleaning the mess, and we turn our attention back to the screens. The bloodbath is still in progress. The Careers have ganged up on the smaller and more vulnerable tributes from the less wealthy Districts. They run around like frightened deer trying to outrun the Careers, but they are not fast enough. The female tribute from District 10 runs straight into Clove because she is trying to avoid Marvel's sword. Clove slashes a wound though the Tribute's throat. She staggers a few more steps then falls. Her body twitches releasing the last few strands of her life before she becomes still. Blood bubbles out of her mouth and from the wound on her neck. Her beautiful green eyes stare blindly at the arena sky. A gray film covers them.

Her camera goes black, only showing her picture and training score. Her name is Epona. My heart is heavy for her family. Eleven of the tributes are dead. The boy from District 8 is among them. I feel nauseated. A tear slips down my face. I wipe it away quickly.

Elmo squeezes my shoulder. "He'll be okay. Don't worry."

I smiled weakly. "I know. He always is."

He tosses Dimitri's keys on the table. "He asked if you would dive his car home. Sixten is loading him up in the hovercraft. Do you know how much he had to drink?"

I am grateful for the change in subject matter. "My guess is that he's been drinking non-stop since last night."

Elmo bows his head. "He'll learn one of these days. Preferably sooner than later."

"If it's okay…" I hesitate. "I'd like to leave early to go take care of him."

"I think he'd appreciate that very much," Elmo says carefully. "There are few things you might want to stick around for. Ask Plutarch. He'll know."

President Snow has left the room with his entourage of Peacekeepers and I am relieved. I slump back in my chair. Plutarch is rewatching the bloodbath on his laptop. Another group of Gamemakers huddle at the end of the table and are eagerly editing the footage to send to the Capitol and surrounding Districts. Another group has gone to pick up the dead and make them presentable to send back to their families in the Districts.

The remaining tributes are scattering themselves though out the arena. The Careers, the boy from District 3 and Peeta make camp in the Cornucopia. Katniss, Rue and the redhead from District 5 disappear into hiding in the woods. Only Thresh escapes into the wheat. I can only guess what horrors lie there.

"It looks like the star-crossed lovers have split up," Avis says. "Wonder if they had a lover's spat the night before?"

This causes laughter from the remaining Gamemakers. I want to run. I want to get out of here away from these cruel heartless people. I can't risk drawing attention to myself. I don't want them to know what they're doing to me. I force myself to stay in my seat. I ball my hands in my lap. I let Plutarch show me the different ways I can watch the Games from my laptop should I so desire.

After what seems like forever, Plutarch shuts down his computer and grins. "Wasn't that a spectacular beginning?"

I can only manage a weak smile. If I even attempt to open my mouth I just might start screaming. I blink back the tears that threaten to pour out. No one is in the room but Plutarch and I. _What the hell did I just watch?_ I wonder.

Something that I can never be able to unsee.

"I'd like to… to go check on Dimitri. If that's okay…" I stammer. My entire body trembles. If I stand, I'm not sure if my legs will hold my body. I also have to really go to the bathroom. "Is there anything else they need me for?"

Plutarch shakes his head. "The duties have already been divvied up, but thanks for asking. We'll call you if we need you. Give the dear boy my regards. Today seemed to be a little hard on him."

My knees are still shaking as I stand. I clutch Dimitri's keys. The teeth of the keys dig into my palms, allowing me to focus on the task at hand: getting the hell out of this terrible place. The need to relieve myself has gotten worse and I'm not sure I'll make it out of there in time without soiling myself.

"Do ever watch any of the previous Games?" Plutarch asks interrupting my thoughts.

"No," I say. I don't dare tell him that my grandmother never let me watch them if she could help it.

"Well, we have a copy of every single Games in the archives, if you're interested. We might even have your grandmother's Games. They're quite fascinating to watch," he says. "We also have information on all the tributes. Of course there's more on the Victors. Most of them are still alive."

"Thanks." I cross my legs. "I'll think about it and let you know."

"Let me know which one's you're interested in, and I'll get them for you."

I don't know how long I can hold back the tears. Thankfully, the women's restroom is easy to find. Unfortunately, there are three other people are already in there. They are talking among themselves in the stall. Smoke wafts up from one of them. It makes me nervous. I sneak into the one at the end. They don't seem to notice an added person. They gossip like old biddies.

"Can you believe Dimitri vomited in front of President Snow?" One woman says. "I feel so sorry for Carmen. He's like a regular Haymitch. We never should have let him mentor her."

And the way he pushed her off that chair at the training center during the private session? You would have thought he was trying to kill her," The second one says.

"Protect her from that arrow, my left tit. You know that he planned it." The third one scoffs. I recognize the voice to be Contessa. "If Vivian knew she'd never let it stand."

"I think we should tell her," the first one says. "And the way the brat looks at him. It's a look of complete adoration. Oh my word. You would think he walks on water."

"You know he only wants to bed her. That's the only reason he agreed to take care of the little twit. He can't get anyone else to take him to bed. Not since he pulled that stunt with his face." Contessa answers. "I offered to take her under my wing and show her the perks of being a Gamemaker. Maybe help her bed a more suitable victor."

"And she turned you down?" The first lady gasped. "No!"

"Oh yes, Adina," Contessa's tone becomes very serious. "The night of the interviews they were going out together on his motorcycle. She was wearing his jacket. For Chinese food. Really? Of all things you can get to eat and do in the Capitol."

"All that good Capitol breeding gone to waste. It's because of that meddling grandmother. Vivian should have off-ed her when she had the chance." Adina's voice replies.

"He's going to make her fat," The first one complains. "He doesn't want to just bed her. He wants to ruin her, just like he ruined himself. And she's got a great body. So much potential!"

"Doesn't she know whose daughter she is? I feel like we should almost run an intervention!"

My face turns red as I listen to the conversation. They go on and on speculating about mine and Dimitri's sexual habits.

"I wonder if he fucks her on that piano," The first one says. "I heard she's supposed to be rather good."

"Well, Dimitri wasn't known for his creativity in bed," Contessa says. "You know he turned me down when he became a Gamemaker. No victor ever turns me down."

"You mean you didn't have him before?"

"No, Lila. I'm not into gingers. You know that I prefer the Finnick Odairs. Dimitri's a bit of a nobody."

Finally, I can't take it. I can't let them desecrate him any more. I open the stall door. The other two women are from the token screening session. Their eyes widen in shock as I walk out. I force myself smile sweetly at the three of them. Inside, I am trying to hold myself together. Contessa busies herself with washing her hands, unable to look me in the eye. Elina is touching up her makeup.

"Actually," I say, "We prefer fucking on the hood of his car. It's hot. You should try it sometime. Just not with… my… Dimitri."

The words stumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. He is not mine, and probably will never be mine. I just turned him down this morning. _Oh, Carmen, you stupid girl,_ I think. _You let last night blind you. You are doing just what your mother said you would_. Oh, you stupid girl. It's no secret that I am attracted to him. Even he knows that thanks to last night.

_No_. I tell myself firmly. _At least have the decency to not use him as rebound_. I owe him that much, at least.

"Is he any good?" Elina asks. She is doing her makeup in the mirror.

It takes all the strength in me not to flee from the bathroom. My face is flaming. I wonder if they can tell if I'm lying. Probably. I'm not any good at it. I take a deep breath and try to imitate my mother. Hands on hips and I toss my head. "Best I've ever had, _and_ he's not for sale." I say haughtily. I make sure to direct this at Contessa.

Who am I kidding? The victors are given to whoever can afford them for the night. Those select individuals are called the Victory Circle. My mother is probably one of them. In fact, I know she is. I shudder. My grandmother would usher me out of the room when victors such as Finnick Odair visited. Mother would have four or five at a time with a group of her friends. They all talked down to me, uncomfortable when we ran into each other the next morning. And given the power that some of those people hold, I'm probably pretty low on his list of people he wants to bed.

"We'll let them know," Elina says. She winks at me and continues to touch up her eyeliner.

I don't know who 'they' are. I can't tell if she's being sarcastic or if she's trying to help me. More than anything, I want to protect him.

I know certain members of that group call dibs on a certain Victor. Certain Victors, such as Finnick, garner a lot of attention and can't be claimed. But I have heard of less popular Victors becoming one member's personal lover.

Contessa sniffs disdainfully, "I wouldn't be proud of that, you little slut."

Elina chuckles, "Well, you are. Aren't you the one who likes to go around telling us your sexcapades with past victors?"

"I was only expressing concern since he's mentally unstable," Contessa sputters.

"Concern my ass. If anyone is mentally unstable in this conversation, it's you. Don't you have better things to do than talk down this young woman's lover?" Elina replies, pointing her makeup brush accusingly.

"She can't afford his fee to take him off the Victor's Circle," Contessa says coolly.

She's probably right. I have no idea how much he costs, but she doesn't have to know that.

"How do you know?" I draw myself up taller. "Do you know my personal finances?"

"You mother will hear about this!" Contessa pulls her cell phone from her purse. She and her posse storm out of the bathroom.

"Good!" I shout at her retreating back. "But at least I don't have to pay someone to love me like you do, you frigid bitch!"

I stand there in shock. My head throbs and I wish that the floor would swallow me whole and transfer me home to my little apartment. Dimitri's going to kill me for even suggesting that we're sleeping together.

"It sounds like Dimitri's got his hands full," Elina winks at me.

"Dimitri and I aren't sleeping together." I say. Tears well up in my eyes. "I just couldn't let her say anymore horrible things about him. Not after what he's been through."

"Well, either way it's done." She takes out her cell phone and types out a quick message.

"I'm pretty sure he doesn't like me," I admit. At least, not in that way. Though I can never tell, with him.

She frowns. "What makes you say that?"

"I… I… I don't know. I should go check on him. Make sure he hasn't drank himself to death or done anything stupid." I try to pull myself together. It is my nature to expect the very worst.

"Yeah," Elina agrees. "After what he's been through, he needs all the extra TLC you can give him. Let me know if I can help. You have my number." She packs away her different brushes and make up kit.

I watch her pack up her brushes. "Thank you. For helping me get rid of her. Contessa"

"No, thank you. It's about time someone stood up for Dimitri's reputation." she says seriously. "Do you have a ride back to the Training Center?"

"Dimitri's car."

She raises an eyebrow. "Well, he must at least like you if he's letting you touch his car. You know how men are about their toys."

The detour to the ladies room works to my advantage. There are very few people in this corridor. I stop by the conference room to see if Seneca Crane is still in there. I want to ask him about the water. Actually, I could care less about the water. What I really dread is the state Dimitri will be in when I get back. I also dread facing Dimitri and telling him about what happened with Contessa. Our 'no affection' charade in front of the other Gamemakers is gone. Not that they would believe that anyway. A part of me is afraid of what I'll find when I'll arrive at his apartment.

I step back into the conference room. Plutarch is still there watching the footage. Seneca Crane is beside him as they dissect each of the tributes' moves. I watch Epona, the girl from District 10, die yet again. The brutal slash of the throat and the blood gushing out of her wounds as she unceremoniously dies.

"Isn't it beautiful?" The sickening scent of roses suddenly surrounds me and bony fingers dig into my shoulder. President Snow stands behind me. "That's pure human nature right there. True survival. Survival also shows us our true character. Selfish. Greedy. Heartless. There is no room for love if you want to survive. A perfect reminder of how we can't trust anyone. Give my regards to your beloved mentor. Tell him I said I hope he feels better soon."

He lets go of my shoulder and I feel the imprints of his fingers on my body. As fast as he appears, he is gone. I run headlong along the corridor, not caring who sees me. I taste blood in my mouth again. I have bitten the inside of my cheek again in attempt to hold back my screams. The taste of blood makes it more real as the scent of blood from the bloodbath lingers in the conference room.

I force myself to walk to the elevator, a task that is easier said than done. The wait is excruciatingly long. I clutch Dimitri's keys in my shaking hands. It is only when I have safely locked myself in Dimitri's car that I allow myself to scream.

**A/N: Please Review. Thanks.**

**I never know what to write in these Author Notes besides please review. I guess relevant things.**


	19. Chapter 19

**I do not own The Hunger Games. I do own this story and it's original characters.**

**Chapter 19**

My screams echo off the interior of the car as I sit curled in a ball in the passenger seat. Tears stream down my face as I remember. The events of the previous hours flash through my mind. I can still smell the scorched skin of the tribute who stepped on the mine and the arm bouncing off the camera and the bitter smell of blood in the room. The leather seat is still damp from the alcohol that Dimitri spilled earlier. A part of me wonders of he keeps any in his car. It's a stupid move on his part, should he ever get pulled over by a Peacekeeper. Though rare, it does happen on occasion.

I need to forget the vision of the tribute who stepped on a mine to stop replaying in my mind. I need a drink to take the edge off. I search around the car. In his side door compartment he has stashed a second flask. Unfortunately, when I shake it, it's empty. There's also a wadded up pair of lacy black panties. I shove them back where I found them. He's probably has a few lovers floating around. That lie about us sleeping together to Contessa was a bad idea.

The glove compartment yields some success. There is another flask and it has something in it. Several condoms also fall out onto the floor and I hastily shove them back where they belong. I unscrew the lid and take a sip of the effervescent liquid. It warms my throat as I swallow. After a few more sips, feel steady enough to drive. I stash the flask in my purse. I'll replace it when I get back to the apartment.

Dimitri's seat is scooted so far back that I cannot touch the steering wheel or the pedals. He also drives a stick, a rare occurrence in the Capitol. One of my grandmother's neighbors in Victor's Village taught me how to drive. His name was Paisley. Funny, I haven't thought about him in a long time. I wonder if he is still alive. He was several years old than I. He had to be in his early twenties when I visited.

Paisley owned an old truck. It was an ugly thing that used to be green, but was now rusted over. One hot day over the summer, he taught me how to drive on the old roads in the graveyard. Balancing the clutch and gas to move forward was the most difficult part. The truck would jolt forward, giving us both whiplash. I find the button that moves the seat closer to the steering wheel. I forget how tall Dimitri is. He's must be six feet, at least.

I press in the clutch with my left foot and break with my right foot, and turn the key in the ignition. The car starts with a loud roar. I take a deep breath. I can do this. Driving a stick is like learning how to swim. You really never forget how to do it. Well, if you do, you have to remember how to really quickly. I will get home, even if it means that I'm going twenty miles an hour on the highway in first gear.

I move the stick into reverse, and carefully release the clutch while pressing down the gas. The car lurches backwards several feet and then stalls. All the lights on the dashboard come on. I push the clutch back in and start the car again. The car stalls twice as I try to get it out of the parking space. My eyes with brim with tears. I just want to go home. I take a few deep breaths and try to calm myself down. If I can drive a stick at sixteen, then I can drive one at twenty-two. The car lurches forward again. This isn't good for my sore head.

Eventually, I figure out how to balance the break and gas. It is only then that I realize that I have no idea how to get out of here. I consider asking the Peacekeepers, but then I risk stalling and embarrassing myself again.

Thankfully, Dimitri has a full tank of gas. I pick a tunnel and hope for the best. I press the gas and shift into second gear, then third. The car handles the shifts easily, gliding into the next gears. So far so good. This car has a lot of power and I wish that I could take it out on the highway. Flying down the tunnel, I feel almost free.

Paisley would be proud, I think. I was his worst student who made his truck lurch and stall on the overgrown paths. I lost control once and narrowly missed a gravestone. Afterwards, we would have a picnic. The tunnel lights fly past me as I navigate the gentle curves of the tunnel. As I drive, I begin to relax. The more distance I put in between the arena the better I feel. Paisley said that driving always got his mind off his troubles. There was something soothing about the road. However, gas was in short supplies in District 8, so he probably wasn't able to drive as much as he wanted. I wonder if he's mentoring these Games and make a mental note to check the mentor list.

I slow down as I approach a booth with a gate. My heart begins to pound. What if I went the wrong way? I worry. _Then we'll find a place to turn around. It'll be fine._ I reassure myself. Nothing happens, the Peacekeepers wave me by. A bright light appears and Dimitri's car and I are above ground in the Capitol. It takes me a few minutes to adjust to the bright sunlight and get my bearings. There is no rush. No one is behind me. There is no traffic. Almost everything is closed because it is the first day of the Games.

My phone rings making me jump. I dig through my purse for it, thinking it might be Dimitri.

"Hello?" I stammer.

Graham's voice comes clear over the line. "It's about time you answered your phone."

"I've been busy." Not a complete lie.

"That's what what's-his-face, clown boy said," Graham sneers. "Why did he have your phone anyway? Where are you?

I pull into a deserted coffee shop parking lot. I can't talk and drive this thing at the same time.

"I'm driving. I don't see what the big deal is."

"Um…you're my girlfriend, that's why it's a big deal." There is a tinge of jealousy in his voice.

"Can we talk about this later?" I ask. "Now is not a good time."

"Why? Is the bastard with you?"

Actually he might be dead in the bathtub for all I know.

"That 'bastard' you're referring to is my mentor." I shift Dimitri's car into neutral and put it and park.

"Sorry."

"You are not." I spit back. "You're never sorry."

"Look," Graham answers. "Carmen, can we talk about this? In the last couple of days, I've come to a few realizations."

"So have I."

"What are you doing tomorrow or later today?"

"I'll let you know, but right now I've got to go. I've got… to take care of a few things." I'm about five minutes away from the training center. I'm almost to Dimitri. _Please be okay,_ I pray. I know that 'okay' is a relative term when it comes to Victors. I should know. I've spent my life around several.

He sighs. "Okay. I guess I shouldn't be , call me when you get a chance."

I hang up and feel guilty about our entire relationship. Dimitri was right when he said relationships in the Capitol are messy and complicated. Digging around in my purse, I find that flask and take a sip of the liquid. It burns my throat as it goes down. I wait a few moments and turn the key in the ignition.

The parking garage is still fairly empty when I arrive back at the Training Center. After the Games, the building will become leased apartments until the next Games. I'm sure I look terrible since I've been crying. I grab my purse and hurry into the building. The only people I see on my way up are Avoxes and they pay no attention to me.

Dimitri's door is locked, a strange occurrence since he never locks his door when he's home. I ring the doorbell, and after a few moments there is no answer. I bang on the door, hoping to at least some response. My hands are shaking as I insert the key into the lock and turn.

"Dimitri?" I call, shutting the door quietly behind me. Somewhere, water is running. My heart leaps in my throat. The bitter smell of alcohol and vomit lingers in the air. Shattered beer bottles litter the floor with their contents oozing across the hardwood. Specks of blood mingle with the alcohol. A bloody hand print is on the side of the island.

"Dimitri!" I yell again. I hear the panic escalate in my voice. "Where are you?"

"Just go away," a raspy voice snarls.

I drop my purse on the couch and hurry towards his bedroom. Glass crunches underneath my high heel. "Dimitri."

"Leave me alone." His voice is slurred. He sits slumped against the side of the bathtub, clutching a bottle of whiskey. Several bottles surround him. Rum. Tequila. Scotch. Absinthe. He's not being picky. Vomit stains his shirt and pants. Gods, he drinks too much. At least he doesn't pop pills like they're some sort of sweet.

"You know if you've been vomiting you probably shouldn't be drinking," I say.

"Please, just let me drink in peace."

"You can't do this." I say. I start picking up the half empty bottles. "Not now."

"And why can't I?"

"Just because you're a Victor doesn't entitle you to hole up in the bathroom and get blackout drunk because you're afraid of your feelings. Act like victor who's actually proud he won the Games." I realize my misstep as the words fall out of my mouth.

His eyes harden. Rage flickers in his hazel eyes. "Do you want to know the hell my life has been for the last eight years?" He screams as he staggers to his feet. "Do you want to know how I got these scars?"

He hurls the whisky bottle and it shatters on the doorframe above my head. Pieces of glass fall in my hair and down the back of my dress. Glass splinters find their way into my arms and leave a bloody reminder. Whisky soaks my hair and runs down my head into my eyes. I can't wipe my eyes because I risk putting glass in them. The liquid makes its way down my arm and stings my cuts.

Dimitri grabs my arm pushes me against the wall holding his knife to my lips. "You wanna know how I got these scars?"

I don't answer because I'm afraid any word I say will provoke him further.

"Answer me," he yells, pressing the knife closer to my face. He reeks of vomit and alcohol.

"Yes," I say weakly.

"Once upon a time, I was reaped into a deadly game where twenty-four tributes go in and only one comes out. Does that sound familiar to you?"

He jerks my arm. I nod to appease him.

"Do you want to know how I got these scars?" Dimitri repeats. His voice takes on the tone he had at the party. "Let me tell you how I got these scars. It all started when I won the sixty-sixth Hunger Games. I had a beautiful girl, just like you, who loved and adored me. She didn't care if I was broken. She loved me anyway. I loved her more than you will ever know."

He licks his lips and presses the flat end of the blade harder against my mouth. "And they killed her. They made me watch her die after I refused to do what they wanted. They asked me 'why wasn't I smiling? After all, I won. President Snow said 'Let's put a smile on that face.' So I did."

Dimitri slides the tip of the knife inside my mouth so that the blade touches the corner. "I put a smile on my face and laughed while I did it. You should have seen their faces." He laughs hysterically. The steel is cold against my lips and bitter on my tongue. Tears fill my eyes as I realize what he is implying. What he did to himself to defy President Snow.

"He didn't like that, oh no. They locked me away and killed a few members of my family. Now I'm always smiling even though they're dead." Dimitri loosens his grip on me and takes the knife out of my mouth.

"How long did they lock you away?"

"Two long years. Two long years they tortured me under the guise that I was on holiday at the expense of a rich Capitol lover. They all knew that I defied President Snow. Then I was back, a member of the elite Victor's Circle. They didn't want me. They couldn't handle my smiling. The scars." Dimitri opens the bottle of absinthe. "You know as well as I do that the Capitol hates ugly things. I was blight on their beloved Victory Circle, with my face. Plus I destroyed my "value" as a bed buddy. As a Gamemaker, now I am a blemish on their beloved Games. So sweetheart telling me to be proud of winning the Games is like pissing on my dead girlfriend and family members."

"The absinthe is going to make the memories worse," I say quietly. "If you want to be wasted into oblivion drink the tequila."

"The absinthe is stronger. I want to be dead," Dimitri says. "I deserve to be dead. I want my fellow Game tributes and the tributes I let die in the arena to stop haunting me."

"You can't." I say.

"Give me two good reasons."

"First of all, if you do die, you're letting the Capitol win," I answer. "You defied them, and if you die their problems will be all over. Secondly, I need you."

"You need me," Dimitri repeats. "Dammit Capitol Girl."

"I need you because I don't know what I'm doing. And a part of me thinks you need me too."

"That's a brave assumption," he scoffs. But he backs down.

My hands shake as I gather up the remaining bottles. "So, I need you to pull yourself together, if not for your own sake, then for mine. Pretend I'm a tribute. Keep me alive. I challenge you."

"Well, you're going to be let down."

He smiles sadly. "There's a big difference between you and the kids from District 5."

"Is there? The only advantage I have is money and power. I have no idea how to use a knife, throw a spear, shoot a bow and arrow. There is no place to be a pianist in the arena."

He looks down at the bottle and then back at me. The lack of sleep is catching up with him. There are dark circle and bags under his eyes that I didn't notice before. "Sometimes power and money are all you need. It doesn't mean anything if you don't know how to use it."

"You know more about it than I."

He doesn't answer. I pick my way over the broken glass, leaving him to ponder in the bathroom. Suddenly, I have an idea. It risks having another bottle thrown at me. I turn on my heel. "President Snow sends his regards."

My words have the desired affect. Dimitri's eyes narrow and his hand tightens on the neck of the bottle.

"Don't let him win," I say smugly.

"Get out," Pain and rage fill his eyes. He screams. "GET OUT OF HERE, YOU BITCH!"

Dimitri makes a point by throwing his knife in the wall across from the bathroom. It sticks deeply into the drywall. Then he slams the bathroom door. It rattles on its hinges. As I walk out of the bathroom, more glass shatters. I don't know if it is the mirror or another empty bottle. I should be worried that he'll mutilate himself with the glass, but being found dead in a bathtub isn't his style. He's more 'clean my gun while drunk and accidentally shoot myself' type.

His gun lies on the bedside table. In this state, Dimitri is a danger to himself and others. I balance the still full bottles in one arm and the gun in the other. There is also his collection of knives to consider. I set the bottles on the counter. I stash the gun in my purse. His other one is lying on the coffee table. I put next to my purse. I sneak back to my apartment to stash the guns away. They are my biggest concern. I need to hide them so he can't find them. My hands shake from the adrenaline coursing though my veins. The fight or flight instinct is back. This is probably how the tributes are feeling in the arena right now.

I rush into my bathroom and stash one of the guns under the bathroom sink, underneath several boxes of my feminine products. Men fear those with every ounce of their souls. It'll be safe there. I don't have much time. There are other weapons in his apartment. If I were Dimitri, where wouldn't I look? Under the mattress seems like a logical place, so does my underwear drawer. Suddenly, I have an idea. He won't look in the cookie jar. I stuff one gun in the jar labeled "cookies" until I can find a better spot for it. It's out of reach of my cats.

Carefully, I walk back to the bedroom. If I remember correctly, he keeps his knives on his bookshelves. My cuts are bleeding now, and droplets of blood run down my arms. The shards have also created runs in my hose. I pause at the door. From my vantage point, the bathroom door is still closed. Water is running. Maybe he's finally washing off the vomit and pulling himself together.

I pick up a discarded shirt lying across a chair. I recognize it as the shirt he wore yesterday. I tie knots at the end of the sleeves and begin to put the knives on the bookshelf into it. I don't have much time. I tuck one of the larger knives, I think it's called a machete on the chair so I won't forget it. This probably only the tip of his collection.

_If I were Dimitri, where would I keep my weapons?_ His night stands catch my eye. There might be something in the top drawer. I feel sort of guilty rummaging through his things, but it's for a good cause. Plus, he's already been in my underwear drawer. I find two knives several flat disks with sharp edges that look like they can be used as weapons, and several cartages containing bullets. I stash them in the shirt as well. I freeze as I hear something fall in the bathroom. I don't have much time. I open the drawers in his dresser and dig through the contents. There are a few knives in there. There are also several dirty magazines containing women in lewd poses. I stuff these back in the drawer hastily and close the door, my face is red. Dimitri may be owned by the Capitol, but he has needs too.

I open a few more drawers and find a few more knives and gun magazines. In his sock drawer, tucked at the bottom, there is a magazine featuring victors. The one on top has Dimitri on the cover. He is completely naked and smiling coquettishly. I flip through it. I have never seen one of these before. It makes sense, given the Victor's duties besides mentoring. Loud retching comes from the bathroom jolting me from my thoughts. I should check on him. He is my mentor after all. I close the drawer I was digging through, gather up the shirt and escape from his apartment. I stash it under my arm. I don't have much time.

I tap on the door lightly. "Dimitri?"

"What?" he sneers. "Haven't you done enough damage today?"

"I just wanted to tell you—"

"Get out."

"But—"

"Carmen, I swear to God if you don't get out I will kill you." Another round retching sends him crawling to the porcelain throne. I wrinkle my nose at the licorice smell from the absinthe mixed with the smell of vomit.

"I'm making chicken soup for dinner tonight and if you're feeling up to it, I wanted to invite you over for some."

"What makes you think that inviting me over for soup makes what you said any better? I am not your whore."

I have a sickening feeling that he knows what I've done. I pick up my confiscated items, close the door and let him drown in his misery. "Because you're my mentor, and you need—"

"I don't need you." He spits. "I don't need you to take care of me."

Back in my apartment, I wonder where I am going to put these knives. In any case, they can't stay in the stolen shirt. I own two curious kittens. My phone rings and the sickening feeling in my stomach returns. It's Graham.

"Hello." I say. I pick up a few of the knives and start hiding them; a few in the silverware drawer beside the steak knives, one in the butter compartment of the fridge. The throwing stars would make good coasters. He probably wouldn't notice those particularly if I hide them under the flower vases. Getting a concussion is good for something, at least, even if it was his fault.

"Are you busy?"

"Not really." I stash the machete with the plates. "Just doing a few things around the house."

"Can we talk about this? About the Games? About us?"

"I guess." After all that's happened today, one more thing can't hurt. "I need to take a shower."

"You want to meet in an hours?"

"To talk about us?" I reply. As far as I was concerned there was no more 'us'. Maybe he knows that two. The upside of meeting Graham is that I wouldn't be around for any more of Dimitri's rages. I need to take a shower and wash off the blood and glass. I also need to wash the blood off my hands from the tributes. Epona's glassy eyes burn into my thoughts, with the blood gushing out of her throat. I shouldn't go. I should stay here and babysit Dimitri through his self-destructive dancing with the Green Fairy.

No. I need to get away from this place, at least for a while.

I quickly finish hiding the rest of the knives. I stuff a couple in the couch, behind a pillow, under the couch, the television stand. They are scattered through out the apartment. The guns are safely hidden away. I hide the Victory Circle magazine in my piano bench underneath some music. As far as I know, Dimitri does not have a key to my apartment. He does still have his motorcycle keys. I slip back over there and press my ear against the door. Nothing. I open the door slowly. An Avox stands with a dustpan filled with glass.

Another one comes out carrying a bag. They don't meet my eye.

"You didn't see me here," I say. The key from the motorcycle hangs on a hook by the door. I pause.

"How sick is he?" I ask.

My answer is a loud sobbing from the bedroom.

"Stop drinking the absinthe," I call. "It's going to make the hallucinations worse as well as make your feel drunker."

"I just want to forget," he cries. "Make it stop. Make them stop torturing me."

I want to figure out what happened to him. Maybe I can make it stop, but I have no idea where to start.

I slip out the front door and back to my apartment. My phone rings. This time it is my mother. I let it go to voicemail. I know that call probably pertains to the stunt I pulled earlier involving the Victor's Circle. When I undo my braid, glass falls onto the bathroom floor. I shower quickly and wash my hair. I still smell like the arena.

Thankfully, I only have a few cuts from the bottle Dimitri threw at my head. My makeup has rubbed off some with my crying so my black eye is visible. It's not a swollen as, and the bruise is starting to turn from purple to green.

After my shower, I rebraid my hair and pull on the shirt I wore to the arena last night. It smells faintly of Dimitri. The scent is comforting as I breathe in deeply. It is a mixture of his cologne and clove cigarettes.

Graham and I plan to meet at a local Bistro called Robin Alexander's in two hours time. It is a popular restaurant for college students. It's maybe a fifteen minute drive from the training center. I decide to take Dimitri's car. He's not using it.

I should check on him before I go, but I don't. I just hope he'll be alive when I get back. I don't know how to help him or even if it's possible.

**A/n: Please Review**


	20. Chapter 20

**I don't own THG, but the plot of this story and original characters are mine.**

**Chapter 20**

Graham sits at a table in the bistro sipping on a martini. The sight of alcohol makes my stomach church. I'm ready to be done with it forever. I sit down in the seat across from him. I can tell he's had a couple and he wants to fight.

"You want a drink?" he asks.

"No. Thank you," I say stiffly.

"You look like you could use one."

"No, thank you." I repeat. "I don't want anything."

"How are you?"

How am I? Well for starters, my mentor's having a bad trip down memory lane with the Green Fairy and I don't know how to help him. I have a concussion. I watched eleven tributes die in a bloodbath this morning. And I'm supposedly sleeping with someone else other than you. The entertainment channel, TDZ, probably already knows more than we do about our relationship, or lack thereof, so let's just get this over with.

"Fine." I could never be honest with Graham about my emotions. It was always, 'Don't feel sorry for yourself, there are people in the Districts worse off than you,' or 'poor me, I'm not from the Capitol.' He's never seen me cry. I've never felt safe enough. With Dimitri, my emotions manage to find their way out there, and I feel like he understands me in some strange way.

"How's being a Gamemaker?"

I shrug. "It's alright, I guess. I haven't had to do anything yet."

"Yeah, except go to awesome parties. Why haven't you invited me?"

"What awesome parties?" I ask.

"Oh, you know the ones at the Opening Ceremonies at President Snow's mansion? Then the ones last night after the interviews." He leans in closer. "I'm your boyfriend you supposed to take me and let me in to all the awesome secrets. Like, do you know why Katniss got an eleven for her training score?"

"What, so you can brag to your friends? That's all I've ever been to you. Besides, I can't tell you," I say. "It's classified information. And the party at President Snow's mansion was for Gamemakers and mentors only. I didn't go to the one last night and I probably won't go to any unless I am required to attend."

"You mean you aren't going to go unless Dimitri goes," Graham scowls at me. I can tell by the tone in his voice this is going to get ugly quickly. Thankfully, there aren't a lot of people at the bistro. "I saw that little kiss at President Snow's mansion."

I shrug. "And? You were fondling some other girl at the party my Gamemakership was announced."

The color drains from his face. "You saw that? It wasn't anything…"

I shrug. "Doesn't matter."

He frantically tries to turn the conversation back to me. "So why has Dimitri been answering your phone the last couple of days?"

To tell him the true answer to that question would reveal why Katniss got that eleven in the first place. "I've been sick and he's been taking care of me."

"You're lying," he sneers "I can't believe this. If you were sick, why didn't you call me? I would have come and taken care of you."

Because you would have made it all about you.

"He's my mentor. It's his job. You said you wanted to talk about us," I interrupt.

Graham sighs. "To be honest, I don't know what that is anymore. It's obvious that you don't care about me. You're so caught up in playing Gamemaker and going to crazy parties…"

"You're always playing the victim card, and I'm tired of it." I reply. "You think that I should feel sorry for you because you're not from the Capitol and you lost your brother in the Hunger Games. That gives you every right to invalidate my feelings. Well, guess what? There are other people that have lost more than you. Some of them were forced to watch their loved ones die in front of them before they themselves were tortured. And all you can whine about is how you're not going to awesome parties. I have bigger things to worry about than that."

"So what are you saying? I'm selfish?"

"That's part of it." I answer.

"Why don't you go on ahead admit to me that you're sleeping with that ugly clown. Why else would he be at your place answering your phone?"

"Because I got a concussion, and no one he called would come take me home from the hospital and stay with me for the designated forty-eight hours."

"He didn't call me."

"You aren't family," I say. "And if he did, you wouldn't have come, anyway."

"I would have." Graham insisted.

"No, you wouldn't. Don't lie to me. If it's not about you, you don't care. If it doesn't ooze sex, then you're not interested." I spit. My cheeks are hot and my hands are shaking. People are beginning to stare at us. I try to keep myself from yelling. "And to be honest, I'm tired of your shit."

Before he can give me some smartass remark, my phone rings interrupting our conversation. It's Dimitri. The other person I don't want to talk to right now. "What?" I snap.

"Well, hello to you too. Where are my keys?" Dimitri growls. His voice is still slurred and his voice is still raspy.

"I have them." I cover the mouth of the phone and whisper. "It's important."

Graham drains the rest of his martini. "Of course it is. Everything's more important now that you're a fucking Gamemaker."

I grab my purse and escape from the table out of earshot onto the patio. My knees are shaking and I have to sit down in a chair. When did my anxiety get so bad? I wonder. "Do you need me?"

"No. I want my keys so Avis can take me back to the arena to pick up my car."

"I have your car. If it counts for anything, I can drive a stick shift. I drove your car home. Don't worry; it's all in one piece."

"Who the hell gave you my keys?"

"Elmo. He didn't tell you?"

"No one tells me jackshit anymore. You know that." Frustration laces his voice.

"I'm sorry," I mumble. "Look, I have to go. I'm in the middle of something."

On the other end, drawers open and close loudly. "Most of my knives and both of my guns are missing. Do you know anything about that?"

"I might." I scuff my toe into the ground. I am cold even though it's rather warm outside and the sun is shining.

He sighs loudly. "Carmen, I swear to God. What the fuck? Why did you do that? Why did you go through my shit?"

"Can we talk about this later?" I ask. I look back at the door. Graham he's glaring at me from the doorway and he's ordered another martini. "This really isn't a good ti—."

"No, we cannot talk about this later. I need to know…"

"I'm with Graham." I blurt out. My eyes brim with tears. It's starting to sink in what I am about to do. This was a terrible idea do on the start of the Games. Emotions are already running high.

"What the fuck are you doing with him?"

"Guess." My answer comes out a squeak. I can't stop the tears running down my face. I wipe them away quickly. My makeup is probably smeared. It doesn't matter. Members of the Capitol get to see me fall apart. I suppose I deserve this.

"And how is that going?"

A loud sob escapes and I clamp a hand over my mouth. Someone hands me a napkin and I dab at my eyes. Thankfully, Graham has gone back inside.

He is silent on the other end. "I'd offer to come get you on my motorcycle, but I see those keys are gone too."

"They're on the counter in my apartment." I am terrified that Graham will come back and see that I've been crying.

"Duly noted. Where are my guns?"

"I'm not telling you. You don't need them. Dimitri…" The last word comes out in a whisper. I can't seem to form anymore words without crying.

"When this whole thing is over and done with we're going to have a nice long talk about boundaries." Dimitri says. "We're also going to talk about how stealing is wrong."

I squeeze my eyes closes and try to hold back more sobs.

"Do you hear me? You're lucky I know how to pick a lock. Where are you?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I'm serious. I'm going to come give that bastard a piece of my mind and maybe a side of my fist."

"Dimitri, don't," I warn. "He'll…"

"Carmen. What the hell is taking you so long?" Graham yells. "Come on. Put me first over your job for once. Hell, your piano gets more attention than me."

"You're going to make it worse. And you're drunk. Dimitri, don't be stupid."

"How am I going to make it worse? The guy's already a jackass. He's treating you like a whore, which is something that a: you are not, and b: you deserver better."

"Carmen!" Graham slurs. "Hang up with them already. It's not like you can lose your job."

"You are my tribute and it is my responsibility to keep you alive. Now, dammit Carmen, just tell me where you are."

"Carmen!" Graham yells. He's moving towards me. The manager is trying to distract him.

"Hey buddy, if you keep this up you'll have to leave." The manager says trying to block him from getting to me. Graham pushes him aside.

"Robin Alexander's." I whisper and hang up.

"Who was that?" Graham demands.

"How is that any of your business?" I snap.

"You're cheating on me, aren't you? That's why you're crying." He grabs my arm roughly and pulls me out of my seat. He's trying to create a scene, I realize.

Technically, I guess that's true. I've kissed Dimitri twice, but it didn't mean anything. Did it? No, I decide. It didn't mean anything. The first time he kissed me. He had been drinking. I only kissed him in the arena to prove a point. Surely Graham doesn't know that.

"I am not." I retort. "And for the record you're not Mister Monogamist either. I can think of at least two occasions…"

"Well we both know that she never liked me." Graham interrupts. He begins on his third martini. "I was never good enough for Vivian Hyde's daughter."

"And for good reason." A familiar voice says behind me. "To be completely honest, she's better off without you."

I freeze. How did he get here so fast? He must have picked a lock to my apartment then called me when he couldn't find the guns. Sneaky asshole. Still, even if he did break in my apartment to get the keys, I'm glad he's here.

Graham's eyes widen at Dimitri standing at the gate, wearing his motorcycle helmet with only his eyes visible. He stands there with his hands on his hips. Curly red hair splays over his shoulders.

"Who are you?" Graham scoffs. His fingers dig into my arm, just like President Snow's dug into my shoulder earlier. I repress a shudder.

"Simply an innocent bystander who believes in doing the right thing." He shrugs as he pulls of his leather gloves. "Don't you have better things to do than physically and verbally abusing your now ex-girlfriend in a public place?"

"We're still together," Graham spits at him. "And why don't you fuck off."

"Are you telling me you haven't broken up with him yet? Carmen!"

"You know this asshole?" He jerks my shoulder roughly. "Is this the one you've been cheating on me with?"

"No. I'm not. I've never cheated on you with him. I don't think this isn't working out," I say, trying to distract him away from Dimitri. "Why don't we go our separate ways and forget it."

Graham pushes me to the side and ignores me. "Did she ask you come here?"

Dimitri gestures to a table. "This is a restaurant. Maybe I'm hungry. Like I said, I was driving by and saw you harassing her, so I stopped."

"If you weren't such a coward, you'd show you're entire face."

"Oh trust me, I am no coward." Dimitri's mutters taking off his helmet. "There. Satisfied, pretty boy?"

"You're right. It's not me, it's you. And breaking up with you hurts me more than it hurts you." Graham sits down at the table. "Especially since you're leaving me for someone as ugly as him. What a downgrade!"

"Does it?" An ornate knife with a jagged blade embeds itself into the table in between Graham's fingers with deadly accuracy. Dimitri's voice is deadly quiet. The slur that I heard on the phone is gone. He is cool, calm and collected. Graham jumps back and falls off his chair onto the concrete. Several people gasp. A crowd has gathered on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. The scars on his mouth make him seem more threatening.

"If you're asking those kinds of questions then it's a pretty clear indication that you're guilty." His hand is still gripping the knife.

"You don't know…" Graham tries to scramble to his feet, but all the alcohol has made him unsteady. He trips over an untied shoelace. "You don't know me."

"Why don't you stop talking in clichés and say what you mean?" Dimitri growls. He pulls his knife out of the table and tosses it in the air. "By the way, you missed one."

"You… you…" Graham stutters as he trips over his own feet. "This isn't over, Carmen. "Tell me, did I ever treat you badly? Did I ever…"

"If you don't shut up, you're going to lose a finger," Dimitri grumbles. "Could I have a menu and maybe a different table? I don't want to sit with this bozo."

The wait staff hurries quickly to accommodate him. Dimitri claps a hand on Graham's shoulder and yanks his shirt so they are nose to nose. "A couple of words of advice: you don't break up with your girlfriend in a public spot as an attempt to get your fifteen minutes of fame. Secondly, do it sober. Thirdly, if I even hear of you threatening Carmen again I will personally see to it that you pay dearly. Do I make myself clear?"

A few people clap at Dimitri's threats. They always like a good show. I wonder of they recognize him with out the creepy makeup.

"Leave it to Carmen to have someone to do her dirty work for her. She was always a bit of whore. Just like her mother." Graham says scornfully. He tries to twist out of Dimitri's grasp, but that gets him nowhere. Dimitri only tightens his grip on him.

"Oh, stop bringing people's mothers into this argument. What are you? Twelve? Correct me if I'm wrong," Dimitri tsks, shoving him away. "Weren't you the one who said you thought things weren't working out?"

He looks at the patrons in the bistro. They nod in agreement. In their ridiculous outfits and makeup, they sit at the edge of their seats to see what happens next. People like them take pride in watching other people air their dirty laundry in public.

"Yeah, but…"

"Then technically, I did nothing to end your relationship. I just stopped you from harassing her and creating a scene. You can't be mad at me. It's your fault. I had no impact on the decisions you chose to make."

"But you threatened me," Graham says. He's clearly confused.

"No, no, no, I only made you put what you were implying in clearer terms; which is you are a pompous, attention-seeking nincompoop, and it clearly is you and not her that is a dealbreaker for this relationship. If you can even call that poor excuse an attempt."

A few people laugh and clap. Graham realizes that Dimitri has made a fool out of him. Swearing, he lunges at Dimitri, but Dimitri moves out of the way and deflects his blow easily, causing Graham to fall into a table. He knocks it over and lands face first onto the concrete. Blood squirts out his nose. His arm is bent at a strange angle. The manager comes rushing to his aid, yelling something into his phone.

"I may be ugly, but at least I have a personality. I also know how you should treat other people. Carmen, what did you see in this clown anyway?" He wraps his arm around my waist protectively.

Graham yells obscenities at him as several male waiters come to try to calm him down and a Peacekeeper comes and escorts him out of the building in handcuffs. I feel some satisfaction as he is lead away.

"Thank you," I say softly. I wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face into his shoulder. Bystanders clap.

"Don't mention it. It's my job to keep you alive," he whispers into my ear. "Even when you steal all of my weapons and that makes my job very hard."

I blush. "You could just punch him in the face, or throw him into a table."

The manager strides up to us. "Could you two stick around, we've got Peacekeepers coming to arrest this guy for disturbing the peace."

"Yeah, can we have two menus?" Dimitri pulls his Gamemaker badge out of his jacket pocket. He nods that I should do the same. I dig through my purse and show it discreetly. If Dimitri gets in any legal trouble, his status will help him. The fact that Graham tried to assault a Gamemaker, well, in any rate he's screwed. He's not my problem any more.

The manager gestures us to a near by table that already has two menus sitting on the table. "Please let us know if we can help you with anything."

"That's so romantic," a girl exclaims to her friend. "I want a guy to come rescue me from my ex-boyfriend."

"He looks so…dangerous and sexy," her friend sighs. "I wonder if he's single?"

"What? Are you jealous?" Dimitri asks as he pulls out my chair. "We should celebrate your freedom from that asshole."

I roll my eyes. If they knew what he was doing a few hours earlier, they wouldn't be thinking that. "Of course not," I scoff. The fact that both of them are staring at me makes me very uncomfortable. I focus my attention on the menu.

"Can I get you something to drink?" A waitress asks.

"Just water for me," I say.

"Coffee, no cream or sugar and a water."

"He's probably secretly in love with her and he's been waiting for her to break up with him." Another girl from the table diagonally from us, whispers.

I'm sure Dimitri is just absolutely pining.

I look up and Dimitri is staring at me looking amused.

"What?" I ask irritably.

"Nothing. Just looking at you, that's all."

"Well, stop. What are you going to get?" I ask, changing the subject. I keep my eyes focused on the menu. Nothing seems appetizing. My stomach is still churning from the aftermath of nerves of dealing with Dimitri's episode, my confrontation with Graham and the beginning of the Games.

"I don't know. French onion soup or maybe some eggs."

"That sounds like a gross combination."

He chuckles. "Not together. I would never do that."

"I might go for the grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup," I say. "My stomach still hasn't recovered from this morning. I can still smell the blood."

"You're going to smell a lot of blood in the coming weeks," Dimitri says, focusing on the menu. "You might as well get used to it. Baked apples also sound good."

"You could get French Onion soup, a salad and baked apples. I don't know how you're stomach is feeling after the last couple of hours."

"The Capitol makes some wonderful drugs," he answers. "It's a shame they don't have a cure for stupidity."

The waitress comes back with our drinks and sets them in front of us. "Are you ready to order?"

"I'd like a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of tomato soup," I answer.

"And I'll have the French onion soup, a small spinach salad and a side of baked apples, please," Dimitri replies as he hands her our menus. He doesn't say anything until she leaves. "What happened after I… you know, left."

"More tributes died," I say. "Plutarch showed me more features on the laptop." I leave out the part with Contessa and my second meeting with President Snow that reinforced the horror of the Games. "He also told me that I had access to any of the past tributes and victors."

"I mean, if you wanted to watch the past Games you're welcome to. You said you didn't watch any growing up?"

"Not really. My Grandmother made us not watch them, if she could help it. And my mother was never around, giving that she was a Gamemaker."

"What else?"

"Then I drove your car home. Thought you might be impressed that I can drive a manual car.

"You know there's a button that you can push that makes it so you don't have to shift, right?"

I shrug. "I felt… dangerous."

"Where'd you learn to drive a manual? That's not a standard teaching here."

A smile creeps onto my face. "From a Victor in District 8."

"You're a piece of work."

"So are you," I retort.

"Touché." He toys with the salt shaker. "Are you trying to burn bridges with everyone today or just the men in your life?"

"You're one to talk about burning bridges," I say. "And besides, I have a bad track record with men, just like my mother."

He snorts. "That's not… that's not true. She has a pretty good track record with men that aren't your father, no offense."

"She likes victors. I know a lot of them." I fiddle with the peppers shaker. The backs of our fingers touch. The contact of our skin is like electricity. "When I got up the next morning, they were leaving. Finnick Odair would always stay for breakfast though. So would Chaff, Brutus, and Blight. "I don't remember you though. You didn't look familiar at all when I met you."

Pain fills his eyes and he stops toying with the salt shaker. "I was her guest once, but I didn't… didn't fulfill her needs. Something came up that night. I… I was needed elsewhere. She never did invite me back."

"Why?"

"It doesn't matter. I looked pretty different back then anyway. It's probably better that you don't remember me." Our hands still rest against each other. The gesture makes me want to cry because it is a reminder of what I have just lost. I take a deep breath and swallow hard and stuff the emotions back inside of me to keep for another time; a time when I am alone and fully let them out.

"You can cry about it, it's okay." Dimitri says softly. "Let it out. No one here is going to begrudge you that. He's an asshole. You deserve better than him."

His fingers wrap around mine. Tears streak down my face for the umpteenth time today. I can't look at Dimitri, so I focus on our hands. The texture of his palms are rough, a pleasant change from the softness of the Capitol. My father's hands were rough. He said it was from handling paper all day. It dried out his skin "Why did you come?"

"Why shouldn't I have?" His hazel eyes met mine. "I'm your mentor, aren't I?"

I take a deep breath and try to remove my hands from his. An hour or so he was violently drunk and angry. "We shouldn't be holding hands. People will suspect things."

"It's too late for that sweetheart." He keeps a hold on both of my hands. "Let them think I'm confessing my love for you. It won't hurt anything. They like drama like this."

_It's not like we were fooling anyone anyway,_ I think. The Peacekeepers are arresting Graham. He scowls in our directions as they handcuff his hands behind his back. The manager points at us and at Dimitri. I catch the words "harassment" and "Gamemakers."

"Three days. I need three days to think and pull myself together." Dimitri continues. He rubs his forehead. "It's been so long since I've mentored and dabbled in Capitol circles. I need time to think, plan. We need to assess your skills and your aim."

"I'm pretty sure I won't be able to hit the side of building with a bat if my life depended on it," I say glumly. "We don't learn that sort of thing here."

Dimitri squeezes my hands. "I didn't exactly know how to fight or use a knife when I came into the arena. I only got a seven in my private session. I almost died, three different times. Once out of my own stupidity and the second time I was stabbed by another tribute, the third I was attacked by a mutt. Stop discounting yourself. You may not be Katniss Everdeen or a tribute from Districts 1, 2, or 4 with weapons, but you are smart. I don't know anyone who can play as well as you."

"Thanks," I say. My fingertips stroke the jagged scar on his forearm. "I haven't preformed recently. Which concert did you come to?"

"They were a while ago. One was several years ago, and the other a year or so ago. Both were by accident."

"I've improved since then, at least I hope," I say. "I've learned several new sonatas and concertos."

"What piece are you learning now?"

"Franz Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody in C-sharp minor. I haven't practiced very much in the last couple of days."

"The last couple of days have been busy," Dimitri says simply. Then he takes a sip of his coffee.

The waitress comes back with our soup. The smell of the soup makes me realize that I am hungry. We eat our soup in silence. I think back to my concerts, trying to remember the faces in the crowd and if Dimitri was in them. "Do you remember the date?"

"It's not important." He stirs his soup to cool it.

"Why are you telling me this if it's not important?"

"Because I'm trying to tell you that you're undervaluing yourself. Have you ever read the book _The Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe_?"

I blow on a spoonful of soup. "No. I've never heard of it."

"It's an old book from the old days. Anyway, there's a girl named Lucy. She's the youngest of her the four kids in the book. She's the one who found the land of Narnia in the wardrobe. Anyway, the point of this story is you share a lot of characteristics of Lucy. You don't recognize your worth."

"You like to read?" I suddenly realize how heartless and arrogant that comment seems, but Dimitri's reaction is one of amusement.

"Yes. I also like wine."

I laugh. "The last one I knew. How's your soup?"

"It's quite good. Do you want to try it?"

"No thanks," I say shyly. "What… what do you do to get over a breakup?"

He doesn't say anything for a moment, focusing mainly on his soup. "I've never really had that problem."

I bite my lip and stare hard into my soup. I feel like crying. I'm saying all kinds of wrong things today. "I…I didn't mean it like that."

Thankfully, the waiter interrupts our conversation by bringing the rest of our food.

"I know." He clears his throat. "The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else."

"I can't do that."

"Why not? That's generally how it goes in the Capitol. That's why relationships are so messy. No one stays faithful. You know that was one of my duties as a Victor?" His eyes rest on mine. There's no malice in them, only weariness. He's dredging up old memories.

"That's why I don't want to rent someone out for the night. When I am…intimate with someone, I want to be their only one. I think that's what hurts the most," I answer. "Is that I'm not good enough for someone to stay faithful to me."

"That's not true. And trust me, I know what if feels like to be disposable and used. I totally hear you. It fucking sucks, but you know, there's someone who thinks you're worth it. And they'll give everything they got to keep you.

My eyes tear up again. Dammit, what is wrong with me? I try to wipe them away quickly. "I think I just need to go home and cry." Though honestly, I want to ask him. "Why are you saying all these nice things to me?"

"Eat your lunch and then we can go home and you can cry all you want." He reaches over and wipes the tears from my face. I must look a sight. My eyes are probably all puffy and my nose is running.

We eat the rest of the time in silence. Dimitri looks pale and tired. Whatever energy he had is wearing off. His hands shake a bit when he raises his fork to his mouth. This is very curious, but I don't say anything. It's probably just the alcohol, though with as much vomiting he had, it would be all out of his system. Medical things such as the absorption of alcohol into the blood are not my strong suit.

As we part ways, Dimitri says. "I'll make you a deal. You have three days to cry, sleep around; whatever you need to do to get over that asshole and then our training begins. I'll leave you alone if you leave me alone."

It sounds fair. I'll grieve my relationship and he'll grieve his Games and his memories. He hugs me and I bury my face in his shoulder.

"Thank you." As I pull away, my lips brush his cheek.

He blushes and then clears his throat. "Oh, if you want it, the offer's open," He says gruffly.

"What offer?"

"I'm a little out of practice, and it's not that big…" His voice trails off.

I frown. "I don't quite understand what you're trying to tell me."

He makes the motion of his hand going over his head. "If you feel like you need to get under someone to get over…"

"No," I interrupt. "I couldn't do that to you, Dimitri."

"Okay." He smiles sadly and kisses my forehead. "See you in three days."

**A/n: Please leave feedback.**


	21. Chapter 21

**I do not own the Hunger Games, but the plot of this story and original characters are mine.**

**Chapter 21**

When I get back to my apartment, I am exhausted. I feel like I have run six miles and afterward someone has beaten my body into a pulp. I drop Dimitri's keys and my purse on the counter. My kittens mew loudly for attention. I pick them up and carry them into the bedroom. There, I crash on the bed and sob, the days events replay endlessly in my head; Epona's death, President Snow's grip, Dimitri's episode, Graham's violence. Dimitri's memories.

Dimitri. Graham. The scene plays over and over in my head. I remember the hard grasp of President Snow and the deaths of the tributes flash through my mind. I cry for them too.

Eventually, I manage to cry myself to sleep. My sleep is garbled and uneasy and I wake up feel even more tired than when I went to sleep. The shadows are lengthening on my bedroom wall. I've slept most of the afternoon. My clothes are rumpled. My mouth feels gross. The clock tells me that it's four-thirty. As I brush my teeth, I wonder what Dimitri's doing, if he's even at his apartment. I never did give him back his keys and he might want to be able to lock his door when he leaves. He may not even be back yet.

I check my email on my Gamemaker work computer. According to Plutarch in an email, at six o'clock, they are reshowing the highlights from the beginning of the Hunger Games. The stations are most likely not showing them again in the Districts due to scheduled blackout hours to conserve energy. Neither Dimitri or I need to report to the arena tomorrow. That's one blessing of this whole thing, at least. I don't have to face him yet.

I make my way into the kitchen, the two kittens following behind me. On the way, I contemplate excuses if he gets angry that I've come to his apartment. I'm lonely? Well, yes, that's true. The apartment seems so big. I open the door to my refrigerator. The knife hiding with the eggs rattles loudly. He doesn't want to hear my sob stories as much as I want to have him relive his Games and mentoring. I'm already causing him enough pain.

The cold hand of the knife rests in my hand. It is neither now or never. I dig the keys out of my purse and close the door behind me. My bare feet pad on the carpet as I hesitantly approach his door. The door is unlocked. What if he's laying on the floor unconscious, what do I do?

I raise my hand to the door to knock and then lose my nerve. If he wants his keys, he can come find me. I can't handle another drunken outburst. I can't handle any more emotions. I just want to close my eyes and for this to be over.

I turn on the television. Nothing is interesting is on except for the local Capitol gossip show airs the famous citizens' dirty laundry. My mother's made a few appearances on it when she had certain victors over to our house for one of her "parties." There were rumors of my parents' divorce, but nothing ever came of it.

Zeus Flamus, the host of the TDZ, the resident gossip column, points excitedly to Robin Alexander's Bistro. The camera zooms on Graham and Dimitri having an exchange and me looking onwards with a look of sheer horror on my face. Funny, I never noticed the cameras there.

"Gamemaker and Victor, Dimitri Kral stepped in what looked to be what an ugly breakup between Carmen Hyde and her now ex-Graham Swingline. Friends of the couple say that things between the couple had been strained after Ms. Hyde's appointment as Gamemaker. There has been some speculation by some that she may be romantically involved with Dimitri after she and Dimitri were spotted kissing and dancing together at President Snow's mansion following the parade of tributes. Comments from other Gamemakers say that the two are not romantically involved and that the kiss was probably a gesture of affection. One Gamemaker commented that they have a close relationship with each other as Dimitri is her mentor. Friends of Graham have commented that he has not been faithful to Carmen on many occasions."

The cameral zooms up to the part where Graham is grabbing me out of my chair and shoving me against the table. Zeus continues, "Bystanders at Robin Alexander's say that Dimitri was very adamant defending her in this confrontation with Graham, who see is seen here roughly grabbing her and shoving her towards a table." Apparently things go so ugly that Dimitri pulled a knife." Zeus's eyebrows flash up dramatically. Then it cuts to Dimitri and I sitting at the table holding hands. He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair or a tear off my face, I can't tell. "We'll have to keep an eye on this relationship now that Graham is out of the picture. There are some major parties that will be thrown during this Hunger Game season; it'll be interesting if the two step out together. Dimitri is known for…"

I change the channel. I quickly change it back, but I've missed it. They've moved on to other elite citizens of the Capitol. A movie is playing. I think it's the same one I watched at Dimitri's the other night.

I should feel embarrassed about not stepping in and having Dimitri defend me, but I feel numb. Any emotions that I have been already cried out. And a part of me doesn't care that I've been TDZ-ed and I have the paparazzi following us both. Dimitri might. After his stint in Victory Circle, attention from any kind of media must not be a good thing. I try to think how I could have prevented a scene, but I know it's impossible to change. Graham intended to make a scene and he got what he wanted.

I watch television mindlessly, trying to waste time to until they show the highlights of the Games events. I know that they are probably monitoring us. An hour before, they re-air the tributes' interviews. Eleven of those tributes are no longer alive and will be sent back to their families in a wooden box. There is no homage to the fallen tributes or even acknowledgement of their deaths.

Caesar Flickerman and Zeus banter a bit about the tributes. "Katniss really took off running after the gong sounded. Her speed must have really impressed the judges to give her an eleven," Zeus says.

Caesar chuckles. "Let's take a peek into what the Gamemakers were experiencing this morning."

It cuts the scene in the conference room. President Snow sits at the head of the table, his hands folded neatly. He smiles, but his eyes stay cruel. The camera pans to Plutarch who smiles and gives the camera a thumbs up. Contessa is putting on lipstick. Elmo and Sixten are talking. Finally, the camera rests on Dimitri and I. Dimitri scowls at the camera.

"I always wonder how he got his appointment," Caesar says.

"He must be so dedicated to the Games," Zeus says. "I bet President Snow wishes that more Victors were as dedicated as he is."

"He's forgoing his traditional makeup today. I'm sure all of the other Gamemakers were relieved," Caesar replies. "It's very unnerving."

The camera pans over to me. "This is Vivian Hyde's daughter. She looks a little nervous," Caesar chuckles. "You can see she keeps looking over to Dimitri for reassurance."

"Is that a black eye?" Zeus asks. "Do you she got that in an altercation with Graham?" From the footage earlier it looks…"

I press the mute button. I've heard enough.

They only show those who are still alive. Suddenly, I have an idea. I pick the kittens up off my lap and walk over to my grand piano. I open the lid of the piano and prop it up with the longest arm. This way, the sound will carry. If I were really brave and didn't have cats, I'd open the door to my apartment so that the sound could carry down the hall and to Sixten, Contessa and Dimitri.

Dimitri.

I'll play for him too, and all the other victors. In the last seventy-four years close to two thousand tributes have died for the sake of our entertainment. The sheer number makes me sick. I wonder if Dimitri realizes this. He must. Then why is he a Gamemaker?

I turn the volume back up so I'll know exactly when the gong goes off.

It's been a few days since I've played and my fingers are stiff. I rest my finger on my keys and look over at the television waiting for the Games to begin. I mentally prepare a list of pieces that I'll play for the tributes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begin!" Claudius Templesmith's voice booms through the speakers. The gong sounds.

I play the first chords of the third movement of Chopin's Sonata No. 2 in b-flat minor. The movement is called _Marche Funèbre: Lento_. A slow march. A dirge. It's a familiar piece that most people will recognize. The piece by Chopin makes them uncomfortable and vulnerable. The rumbling tone of the bass adds to the uncomfortabliness. My teacher described it as gut-wrenching like all of your entrails are on display. The motif never seems to resolve and stays in a minor key. I know this because I played this for several of my mother's Gamemaker friends. She liked to show me off. "Look at what my little Carmen can do." As retaliation, I'd play my most depressing pieces I knew. The Gamemakers would shift in their seats uncomfortable, until my mother would break in with. "Can't you play something happier?"

If the Capitol is watching me, they'll know exactly what I'm doing. I don't care.

The first chords that are the main theme are played pianissimo, but as the piece progresses, it increases in volume. When I reach the Sforzandos, it is in time with the Careers killing the eleven tributes that stood no chance.

Next, I play Beethoven's_ Pathetique_, followed by Debussy's _Clare de Lune_. These pieces are moody, but yet, I feel like they offer a glimmer of hope; a hope that the afterlife of these tributes will be better than their last moments. _Clare de Lune _is for Dimitri and I. A tribute to last night. The notes fill the apartment, echoing off the walls. I wonder if the people above me and below me can hear it. I guess it doesn't matter. They're all Gamemakers, anyway.

Dimitri stands in my foyer. Dark circles are cut deeply under his eyes, both of which are bloodshot. He's been drinking again. His lips are pale and his skin has a green sickly tinge to it.

"I thought we weren't going to see each other for three days," I say.

He doesn't say anything, but shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor. "I need my guns back, Carmen."

"No," I say firmly. "You've been drinking."

"You stole them from me. You went through my stuff. That's not right. Surely, someone in you family taught you that it was wrong? What if I came in and stole all of your music?"

"I would be angry." I play a jarring chord on the piano. He flinches. "I know what I did wasn't right, and I feel guilty. I know you're angry and I don't blame you, but I felt you were a danger to yourself.

"Carmen." He holds up a slip of paper. "Let's make a deal. You have something I want and I have something you want.

"What is that?"

"What did we talk about last night in arena?"

My father.

"You found it? How?" I try to take the piece of paper from him. Dimitri plucks it just out of my reach. "Ah. Ah. Ah. The guns first."

Suddenly, I remember where I put one of his guns. A smile breaks out on my face. "You want your guns back?"

"I don't feel safe without them."

"I don't feel safe with you having them, particularly when you are drunk," I say.

"Well, I'm completely sober now so that's not a concern. I'm pretty sure I've puked up all of the contents of my stomach and part of my spleen."

"That was too much information."

Dimitri follows me into the master bathroom. "I suppose you want me to close your eyes so I don't see your secret hiding spot?"

"I don't care." I open the door to the cupboard under the sink. The gun rests in the pink box that holds my tampons. The handle sticks out of the box. I lift the box out and present it to Dimitri. His eyes widen and then his face turns into an expression of disgust. "Seriously?"

I offer him the box. "You said you wanted it back."

"Yeah, but now I'm going to have to disinfect it. It has… girl germs." He picks it up gingerly between his forefinger and thumb.

"Mature." I answer. "You'll get the other one after if the number is real."

"You don't trust me?"

"Why should I?" I say.

"I saved your ass from Graham today."

"Earlier, you threw a bottle at my head today in your drunken rage," I remind him. "Oh and for the record, you were the one who told me not to trust anyone. You're not an exception."

"Ouch. Well, I would like to remind you that Katniss Everdeen could have shot an arrow through your skull if I hadn't pushed you out of the way," He sneers.

"You pinned me up against the wall in the Training Center. What the hell is wrong with you?"

He chuckles. "Do you have any ideas, because I'd like to know that myself."

"The Capitol thinks we're an item, by the way. We were on TDZ."

He rolls his eyes. "Lovely. Stupid, inane..."

"Did you know they were there?"

Dimitri shrugs. "They're everywhere. There used to be a song with the line, 'I'll follow you until you love me.' That's basically their philosophy."

"Lovely." I roll my eyes.

"Isn't it though? Welcome to being famous."

"I don't love them."

"Trust me, I feel the same feeling."

Even though I am angry at him, I can't help by chuckle. "At least we agree on something."

He leans against the doorframe and gives me a half smile. "Yeah, that's something, I guess. It's a start. But it's not enough."

I stare at him hard and try to understand what he's implying. What does he want from me? I am not going to sleep with him. My face burns. He probably knows what I said to Contessa earlier. That's why he offered his… services.

He turns to leave, and then he hesitates. "I heard you playing earlier. It was…very powerful and moving. I…"

"I'm mourning." I whisper. My eyes fill up with tears. I want to tell him about Epona in her final moments. I want to tell him about my sister, who was trapped in the building when it collapsed in a fiery pile.

"I know," he whispers. Dimitri hands me the slip of paper. "Let me know how it turns out."

"Wait!" I call. He doesn't hear me. The door slams and he's gone. "I want to talk to you, you idiot."

I look down at the piece of paper in my hands. Scrawled in Dimitri's messy handwriting are ten numbers; the area code for the Capitol followed by the seven digits that make up the number. This is what I've been looking for for all of these years. Yet I am afraid of what I'll find when I finally dial that number.

The clock reads eight-thirty. The television is giving an update on what is going on in the arena. There have been no more deaths since this morning. Is it too late to call? With shaking hands, I dial the number.

It rings twice. "Hello, Hugo Hyde speaking."

My breath catches in my throat.

"Hello, Father?" I say timidly. "It's me, Carmen."

There's silence on the other end. I am afraid that he's hung up. My heart is pounding. In the background I can hear talking. "Hello?" I say again.

My heart pounds as I wait for a response on the other end. What if he's erased his memory of me just as my mother did with Kari? Before she had the procedure done, we had to get rid of all the reminders of my younger sister. If she saw a picture or saw something that belonged to her, she could be triggered into remembering and it would be a waste. Or my mother could be sent into an uncontrollable rage.

"Carmen?"

"Do you remember who I am?"

"How could I forget? Who gave you this number? Where are you?" My father says frantically.

I don't answer.

"Sweetheart, how did you get this number?" He repeats. He doesn't sound angry, but more afraid. This isn't how I expected my first conversation with my father to go. I'm not sure how I was expecting it, but this is not it.

"Someone gave it to me," I answer. "Dad, I miss you. When are you coming home?"

"Who is it, honey?" A woman asks.

Suddenly, it hits me that he's left us and possibly has another family. Tears well up in my eyes. I shouldn't have called. Dimitri was right.

"It's my daughter," My father replies. He sounds shocked. "Sweetheart, what happened? Where are you?"

"Nothing's happened. I'm fine. I'm at my apartment." I answer. "Where are you?"

My father doesn't answer right away. "We'll see each other soon. Until then, stay alive. Don't let them scare you. May the odds be in your favor."

"But…"

There's a click on the other end and the line is silent. I stare at the cell phone dumbfounded. My heart is pounding. I need to talk to Dimitri. I hurry over to his apartment. The door is locked. I ring the doorbell, but he doesn't answer. He's probably gloating.

It's still early in the evening, according to the Capitol. I go sit out on my balcony that overlooks the Capitol streets. Traffic is picking up. Everyone's going out to party and drink. I almost wish I had somewhere to go. The air is surprisingly warm and balmy for this time of year. I wonder what weather is like in the arena. Is it warm like it was last night? It seems so long ago that Dimitri and I sat on top of the Cornucopia and looked at the stars even though only one day has passed.

My doorbell rings pulling out of me out of my depressing thoughts. Maybe it is Dimitri. Maybe he changed his mind. However, when I open to the door, no one is there. The hallway is empty. A large manila envelop lays on my welcome mat with only my name in it. I pick it up gingerly.

It feels like it contains a large stack of papers. Maybe it contains music? It's not uncommon for music to come this way. Maybe someone heard me playing and wants me to learn a new piece? I drop the unknown envelope on the counter. There's something else in there. A tape? Do they not think I can sight read? Dread overcomes me. I don't know what this is, but y gut tells me that it's not music.

My father's words echo my ears. _Don't let them scare you_.

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is short. This week has been awful. I've been dealing with the aftermath of something that happened on Sunday, and it's really screwed with my writing schedule and my ability to write. Thank you for the reviews and I'm glad you're enjoying it. Please leave more. **


	22. Chapter 22

**I do not own the Hunger Games but I do own this plot and the original characters.**

**Chapter 22**

I shove the envelope in the silverware drawer, leaving its contents untouched until I am less scattered. My very long nap has screwed up my sleep schedule. I end up watching the tributes in the arena. The Careers have set up watch with the stockpile of supplies, but Glimmer has fallen asleep. I jump from camera to camera trying to catch to glimpses of the sky. According the email from Plutarch, the tributes' day isn't the normal twenty-four hours, it's twenty-seven. There was a study done by a scientist back in the old days that proved that the human body worked better on a twenty-seven schedule. They also use it to accommodate the schedules kept by the Gamekeepers.

The girl from District 8 is camped several yards from the same tree that Katniss has made her home for the night. The temperature has dropped slightly. Katniss is probably glad she was able to snatch that pack with the sleeping bag. The girl from District 8 is shivering and whimpering. She gathers a pile of twig and branches with trembling hands. Her hands are shaking so badly that she breaks the first two matches in half. My grandmother would be slapping her forehead at this girl's stupidity.

I click over to Cato's camera. Sure enough, they have seen the smoke. Glimmer dozes and Marvel elbows her sharply.

"Should we kill the bastard?" Marvel sneers.

"Nah, let 'em sleep," Cato answers "They're not going anywhere."

They all look tired with deep circles etched underneath their eyes. Another tribute is sprawled on the ground in a sleeping bag, snoring loudly. Glimmer's head droops again. Clove rubs at the dried blood on her arms and makes a face. She likes to kill, but she hates being dirty. I can tell by her expression that she dislikes having another female rival. Peeta is with them and I wonder if his love for Katniss was an act. How can he betray her like that?

"If we wait until dawn, we can surprise them." Peeta says. His heartless surprises me. He seemed so gentle in the interviews, unlike the Careers who come across as heartless. Their goal is to win. Well, I think, look at Dimitri. He can go to normal to screwball in less than sixty seconds.

After a few moments of discussion, the group decides this to be the best plan and they settle down for then night. I click back to the camera and watch the stars move across the arena.

Later, I am awoken from a deep dreamless sleep by a scream and I almost fall off the couch. It is nearly dawn in the arena and early, early morning my time. The Careers and Peeta stand in front of a lifeless body and a smoldering fire.

"Twelve down, eleven to go!"

They make cruel jokes about the girl. Poor girl is a homely thing. They turn their lips up in disgust when they find nothing good. Cato kicks her body and she moans. Blood spews from the gash in her stomach. She whimpers and curls into the fetal position. The Careers laugh and walk away from their kill.

They stop only yards from Katniss with their flashlights and torches. The dawn is approaching quickly.

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" Glimmer asks.

"Unless she's not dead," Clove answers. Clearly she doubts her District mate's ability to kill.

"She's dead. I stuck her myself." Cato holds up the knife. Blood shines in the torchlight.

"Someone should go back."

"Yeah, so we don't have to track the bitch down twice," Marvel says. "You know how much a pain in the ass that's going to be."

"I said she's dead!" Cato insists. "Stop fucking doubting me. It's not like I want her on my team."

"We're wasting time! I'll finish her and let's move on!" Peeta says. He looks a bit worse for the wear. His face is covered in bruises and there's a large bump above his right eye. And he's limping a bit.

"Go on, then, lover boy," Cato sneers. "See for yourself. It'll be good for you. Maybe you'll see your girlfriend while you're at it."

Peeta squares his shoulders and ambles back to the campsite. The other Careers watch him with critical eyes.

"Why don't we just kill him and just get it over with," Clove says. "It's not like he's useful."

"Let him tag along," Marvel says. "What's the harm? He's decent with the knife. A lot better than some of the other tributes. Besides, he's our best chance at finding her."

"You really believe she bought into that romance shit?" Clove sniffs. "Come on, I doubt she knows he existed before they were both reaped."

Cato sits down and stabs his sword into the ground. "Wish we knew how the bitch got that eleven. District 12 doesn't have any training centers. Their only mentor is a drunken idiot."

"Bet you Lover Boy knows," Clove says she stands behind him and starts to massage his shoulders. Cato shrugs her off. They both stand when they hear Peeta's footsteps.

"Was she dead?" Cato asks.

Peeta cleans his knife on a patch of moss. "She is now. Ready to move on?"

The cannon fires, and I turn off the television. My neck and back are sore from sleeping in a strange angle. I make myself some tea and toast and feed the kittens. Then I go to my bedroom and try catch a few more hours of sleep. My dreams are bizarre; they involve Haymitch, who I've only seen drunk on television, Dimitri, my father, and Seneca Crane. We are in the arena in the woods. President Snow has projected himself on the sky. Around us, tributes die.

I have to break my promise to Dimitri about leaving him alone for three days. He broke it yesterday, so if I do we're even, right? But why? Why not wait to give me that number until after the three days had passed? Unless he wanted a reason to talk to me. Maybe he had concerns about me. Of course he does, he is my mentor. It's his job.

I should knock. I should do a lot of things. I should floss more. I should drink more milk. I twist the doorknob, the door swings open. I should respect his privacy. I should not steal his stuff, even though I thought he may be a danger to himself. The door is still locked. I let myself in. I set the keys on the kitchen counter.

His living quarters are in tidier shape than when I was here earlier. There is no glass, and the bottles of alcohol are fewer. It is awfully warm in here, like someone turned the air conditioner off or it is broken. The television is on, but its volume is muted.

"Dimitri?" I say softly. His bedroom door is cracked. "Are you here?"

A sweet smell comes from his bedroom. I can't quite place it. I open the door. Dimitri lies on the bed wearing only in his underwear. Here, it is a little cooler. He lays sprawled on his back covered in sweat. His eyes are open and glassy and his facial expressions are those of horror similar to Epona's. His chest rises and falls shallowly. Terror strikes my heart.

"Dimitri!" I try to scream. It only comes out as a whisper. I reach out and touch his shoulder. His skin is so hot that it almost burns my hand when I touch him.

A low moan escapes from his lips. They are cracked from the lack of moisture. How long as he been like this? It is only then I notice the syringe in his right hand. Then it hits me. Heros. It's the powerful cousin of morphling and gives off a sweet odor when injected. Several victors in District 8 used to use it from time to time to cope with the memories.

"Oh my God, Dimitri, what have you done?" I whisper. "I have to get your fever down."

I rush to the bathroom and dig around in the linen closet for several washcloths. I soak them all in cold water and don't bother to wring them out. I place them on his head and neck. The coolness is immediately replaced by heat. This isn't going to be effective. I need to get him into the shower. Unfortunately, he is too heavy for me to lift.

When I was deathly ill after Kari died, my grandmother and unknown person, an Avox with hazel eyes helped her get my fever down. My mother was having a party with the Capitol elite. Finnick Odair was there and maybe a younger Elmo and Elina. I spoke to none of them, but instead tried to erase my horror of what happened through playing the piano. I didn't eat. I didn't sleep. They tell me I played constantly, but I don't remember.

"You are an idiot," I mutter as I hurry to replenish the washcloths with cool ones. He groans again.

"They're coming to get me," he moans hoarsely. "They're going to kill you if they find you here."

I fold a rag on his forehead and layer the rest on his neck and torso. "You're safe here, Dimitri. You're in your apartment. " I say patiently. "You have a fever."

He grips my arm. His eyes are glossy and his pupils are dilated. "You have to get out of here, Farore. Before it's too late. Don't forget to tell River…" His next few sentences are incoherent. The drug makes his movements jerky. "I can't hold on. It's coming back."

"Dimitri," I say firmly. "You're okay. You're safe. I won't let them get near you."

His eyes harden and his mouth twists into a sneer. I have the sense to move out of the way this time. He begins to shout obscenities and I manage to crawl on the other side of the bed. Dimitri staggers out of bed, and runs straight into a wall. Something about his movements is not right. They are disjointed and it looks like he is unable to control his body. He stumbles over his own feet and on to the floor. He howls and curls himself into a ball. His body shakes uncontrollably.

I clap my hand over my mouth in horror as he writhes on the floor and digs long scratches on his arms and torso. His phone lies on the bedside table. All personal boundaries aside, I have to call someone. I can't let him suffer like this. As far as I know, he has no one. _Think,_ I say firmly to myself,_ who knows the most about the Games? _

I trust very few of the Gamemakers, which is very unfortunate in situations like this. My three choices are Elina, Elmo, and Plutarch. Plutarch's name comes first in his contacts list. I press dial. It rings twice and then he picks up.

"Plutarch, it's me. Carmen. There's something wrong with Dimitri."

"What? Are you sure? Are you sure his not in one his moods?"

"I don't think he'd be writhing on the floor screaming." I don't mention the drugs. Unless I'm instructed to call the medics, I won't say anything. There's muffled talking in the background. I turn my attention to Dimitri. He staggers to his feet, panting. Sweat drips off his body. He's glaring at me, and his mouth is trying to form words.

"Dimitri?"

He screams and throws himself at the dresser, knocking off everything. Cologne bottles shatter on the floor. I scream and almost drop the phone.

Elmo's voice comes on the line. "Carmen, get out of there. Get as much space between the two of you. He's not… himself."

Any idiot could figure that out.

"I can't," I reply. "He's blocking the way to the door."

Dimitri screams again. Veins bulge out of his forehead and neck. Dimitri's eyes are no longer the warm hazel color, but a cold metallic blue. His hand is bleeding from where he cut it on the glass.

"Get out of there, Carmen." Elmo warns.

"What's wrong with him?" I ask. "Why is he acting like this?"

Elmo ignores my questions. "When you came in, what was he doing?"

"Lying down on his bed. He was hallucinating. He kept asking for someone named Farore. There was a River too."

"Did he ask for the Doctor?"

"The Doctor? Doctor Who?"

"Look, never mind. It's complicated. Just get out of there and we'll explain later."

I have no way to get past him and out of the door to safety. Dimitri lunges at me. I scream and drop the phone. It skids across the floor under the bed. He grabs my wrist and pulls me into the bathroom. It's only then I see the gun.

"Dimitri, it's me Carmen," I plead. "Let me go."

"They're coming." He says.

"Who? Who's coming?"

"Them."

"You're hallucinating. It's the drugs. Dimitri!" I try pull out of his grasp, but he is too strong.

"Farore, listen to me. This isn't a game anymore. It's real, all real. The conspiracy, the attacks, it's all connected."

"What are you talking about? What conspiracy?"

A shudder goes through his body and his knees buckle. He writhes on the tile floor, his skin is burning up. I try to remember all the side effects of Heros from when someone in my class took it. It didn't make them go berserk; in fact, they talked about the different color mushrooms. The gun clatters to the floor and I kick it away from his hand.

"Oh God, it burns. It burns! It's in me! It's in me!" He begins clawing at his skin screaming incoherently. "They've done it again!"

"What is? Who are 'they?'"

He continues to scream and writhe on the floor shouting to this Farore person that we must warn River that he might be next.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what's causing it." I think quickly. "Maybe we can wash it off." If anything, the cold water might bring him back to his senses.

I pull him to his feet and usher him into the shower. I turn the water on as cold as I can get it. In a matter of seconds we are both shivering. Dimitri lets go of my hand and holds his hand palm up catching the ice cold water.

"What the hell?"

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."

"Where am I? Why is the water so cold?" He looks at his hands. His teeth are beginning to chatter.

"We're in your shower because you went absolutely bonkers and were convinced someone was after you," I answer. I wrap my arms around me and try to keep myself warm.

Dimitri doesn't say anything. "How did you get in here?"

"I have your keys."

"Oh yeah."

"I suppose you thought the Heros would help?" I spit. "A lot of good that did you."

"I supposed I did. And here you are, rooting around in my business once again." He presses a variety of button and the water turns almost too hot. "You just can't stay away can you?"

"I had a good reason," I retort.

"Is it the same reason you stole my weapons? Because that wasn't a good reason."

"What? Me thinking that you're going to kill yourself? How is that not a good reason?"

"Well, for one thing you'd be better off." He turns off the water and puts his hands on his hips.

"You're just upset that I care about you. That's it, isn't it? You can't play the poor Dimitri card any more." I point an accusing finger at him.

He makes a face. "Hardly. I was doing perfectly fine until you came along."

"You were writhing on the floor and had a high fever. What was I supposed to do, leave you alone? You could die."

"And you'd be better off. I told you to leave me alone for three days. What do you do? You don't listen to me." He grabs a towel and wraps it around his shoulders.

"Maybe I want your… services." I put a hand on my hip. "I've changed my mind."

"You're lying."

"Am not." I say indignantly.

Dimitri chuckles. "The dress you left here the other day is on the chair. Change your clothes and get the hell out."

"But someone has to take care of you. You're sick. You have a fever." I step out of the shower; my foot almost slips out from underneath me.

"I don't need a Capitol girl fawning over me. I've had enough of that. Why don't you go shopping? Isn't that you Capitol people do? Better yet, why don't you watch the Games?"

"I did. The girl from District 8 died early this morning. She was stabbed by the Careers and then later killed by Peeta." I hug myself. I'm still dripping all over his floor. "The girl from District 5 is still alive."

"Does it look like I care?"

"You should. She's from your District. Don't you want someone from your District to win?"

"No. I don't. Because then they'll be just as fucked up as me."

I lick my lips. "I called my father last night."

"Yeah, and?" He massages his temples.

"It didn't go as well as I hoped." I look at my hands.

"Just get out, Carmen," He says tiredly. His skin is pale. "I can't deal with you right now."

"So you're just going to overdose on Heros and try to forget?"

"If that's what you'd like to think."

I slap him across the face. My hand stings on the impact. "How could you?" I scream. "How could you be so selfish? You don't think I'm suffering too?"

He clutches his face. "Oh, so now it's about you, isn't it? How you can't cope with the Games. Face it, Carmen, you were bred to love them."

"This isn't about me." I'm shaking. "You don't believe that I think what the Capitol is doing is wrong?"

He leans against the bathroom counter. "They've done worse. So if I do let you take care of me, what strings are attached, hm?"

Before I can answer, both Plutarch and Elmo come barraging in the door. Both are out of breath. Elmo mops his head with his kerchief. "Oh, I am too old to be charging around like that. Carmen, are you alright? You're soaking wet."

"Fine." I answer. "Dimitri's fine too."

Plutarch studies us both. His face is beet red and he's panting. "Having some hallucinations again, are you?"

"Yeah." He runs a hand through his hair. "I was trying to ride them out…but she…"

"When I came in he had a syringe in his hand and his eyes were glassy and he had a fever," I answer. "I tried to cool his body down with cool washcloths, and then he went crazy."

"Define 'crazy.'" Elmo answers. "Boy, it is hot in here."

"Well, he screamed like a feral animal and drew blood by scratching himself. Ran into the dresser and the wall."

"Yeah, because I was trying to get back in control."

"Of what?"

Dimitri waves me away. "Never mind. You wouldn't understand. Continue with your lies."

"Then he told me someone was after us. That's probably true by the way you act half of the time." Plutarch drapes a towel over my shoulders.

"I thought you cared about me?"

"I do. That's why I called them." I point to Plutarch and Elmo. "Because they know what to do. That's why I convinced you to get in the shower and then turned on the water as cold as I could get it. You said something was burning him. What's better to stop a burn than cold water?"

"That's fascinating," Plutarch muses rubbing his chin. "I've never heard of tracker…"

"Vinegar," Dimitri interrupts. He gives me a small grin, but then it is quickly replaced by a frown. "I appreciate not smelling like piss, thank you for that."

"You're welcome. It's the least I can do for my dear mentor," I say sarcastically.

"Your sarcasm isn't becoming."

"Neither is yours."

"Didn't they teach you to respect your elders?" Dimitri glares at me. I glare back at him.

I clench my hand into a fist to punch him. Elmo grabs my hand and pulls me away. "Carmen, he's not himself. He's been triggered. It's stronger than we thought, Plutarch."

"Yeah, what you gave me to fix that little bug didn't work because of _her_._" _He points at me angrily.

"I don't think I understand. You were already high when I came in."

"Just get out. You wouldn't understand." He points at the door.

"Fuck you." I cry. Tears stream down my face. "Just fuck you. I just wanted to help you. Instead you act like a complete ass."

Dimitri rolls his eyes.

Elmo holds his hands up and moves between us. "That's enough. Everyone's fine, no one got seriously injured. Just wet. As to why it didn't work, Dimitri. It could be a myriad of reasons."

"I thought the Capitol got rid of the margin of error?" Dimitri sneered.

"Unfortunately, we didn't get rid of being human so mistakes still happen," Elmo sighs.

The three of them exchange glances and then Elmo says. "Why don't you go change into something drier? Plutarch and I have some things to discuss with Dimitri."

"Stay alive." I call over my shoulder. Dimitri's keys lie on the counter. If he wants to drive into a concrete wall and end everything, it's not my problem. Maybe Elmo and Plutarch will talk some sense into him since I can't seem to.

**A/n: Sorry I haven't updated. I've had some IRL issues that have commanded my attention and still aren't resolved. Also, it's spring and you know what that means; PLANT SPAWN! My allergy meds are knocking me out even though they claim to be 'non-drowsy.'**


	23. Chapter 23

**I don't own the Hunger Games, but the plot and original characters in this story are mine.**

**Chapter 23**

A few minutes later, there is a knock on my door. I shove the magazine underneath a couch pillow, take a deep breath and answer the door. It's Plutarch. I cross my arms in front of my chest and lean against the door frame. "I just wanted to come apologize on Dimitri's behalf. He's going through a rough time with the start of the Games and everything. I don't know how much he's told you."

"Not enough."

Plutarch shoves his hands in his pockets. "Please don't take his actions personally."

"He told me he didn't care about me. How am I not supposed to take that personally?" I snap. He's really the only person who took care of me when Katniss shot the arrow. This on top of being broken up with, I am ready to quit.

"Did you get the package I left at your doorstep yesterday?" Plutarch asks. "It was a large manila folder."

"Oh, yes. I haven't looked at it yet," I admit. "Things… have been crazy."

"It's nothing major, just a few things to help you understand the Games better. Make your job a little easier. Seneca suggested it. Try to make your job a little less trial by fire."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. I must get back to the Games now. Don't… Don't worry about Dimitri, he'll come around in time."

Tears well up in my eyes and I try to wipe them away quickly. Plutarch touches my arm. "Oh, my dear girl."

"These last few days have been so hard. The whole thing with Graham and now Dimitri suffering the way that he is, I don't know what to do."

"Maybe you should do something to get your mind off these things? Is there anyone you can call?" He says. "Perhaps you should go shopping or something?"

Why is shopping always the go-to thing for members of the Capitol? I live here and I don't even get it.

He continues. "In that manila packages is an entire Games; reapings, tributes, arena layouts and codes, interviews, highlights. You name it, it's in there."

"Thank you," I say. I am not sure I can handle anymore violence today after watching the District 8 girl's slaughter at the hands of the Careers and Peeta. "I might call my grandmother since she's free from her mentor duties since her last tribute died this morning."

"That sounds like a good idea." He gives me a warm smile. "It's a pity her District isn't a contender for a victory this year."

"You can't win every time." I say, "Though it's been a while since District 8 has a winner."

Plutarch frowns, "Ten at least. Well, may the odds be in the rest of the tributes favor."

I close the door and again, I am alone in my apartment. My apartment has gone into a state of disarray, kind of like the state of my mind. If she does come over, she'll be ashamed at how I've been keeping house. I pull the large manila envelope out of the silverware drawer.

Inside, there is a large stack of papers, a map of the arena, several disks that hold the reapings and interviews. There are also profiles of the tributes for the 66th Games and a couple of unlabeled disks. I set them aside. If anything, I can use them for background noise and distraction. Plus it looks like I'm actually doing my job, familiarizing myself with the Games. They should have given this to me earlier. However, that would have made too much sense. Nothing in the Capitol can be simple and we take a simple joy in watching other flounder and suffer. I mean, shit, look at what we do to children from the Districts.

I don't care to watch the reapings, as they are pretty much all the same. The children are herded together like cattle, checked in by scanning their blood, and then divided by age. Then Capitol escort pulls a name out of the glass ball and reads it.

Instead, I put the Chariot rides, Training sessions, and interviews which are all on one disc. The Capitol Seal comes on the screen. President Snow narrates the Treaty of Treason. "And it was decreed that each year, the 12 districts of Panem should offer up a tribute of one young man and woman between the ages of 12 and 18 to be trained in the art of survival and to be prepared to fight to the death."

I roll my eyes, a perfectly stupid reason to children to die.

The chariot rides begin in the place they've always begun. District 1 is first. The tributes are dressed in purple silk that has been draped with precious and semi-precious stones. A thin gold crown rests on top of their heads. Their eyes are embellished by the same deep purple. In typical District 1 fashion, they are beautiful.

Zeus and Caesar discuss the tributes in added commentary. When the viewer watches former Games, the viewer has luxury of learning more about the tribute because the different interviews have already been completed.

I turn my back to the television and call my grandmother. She doesn't answer. I am a little hurt, but not surprised. I make a promise to myself; if I clean this mess up I can go home. She'd be happy to see me right, her granddaughter who is a Gamemaker and a killer of innocent children. She might have left to go to District 8 to console the families of the tributes. Back to District 8 away from the stink of death which permeates the Capitol. At least people die of natural causes like old age there.

I start with the dishes in the sink which probably have been sitting there since I got my concussion. Of course, Dimitri wouldn't have thought to wash them or at least rinse them off and put them in a dishwasher like a normal person. Of course he wouldn't have, the asshole thinks he was above everyone else with his cryptic remarks. He was like most victors I'd met; smug, selfish, and egotistical and feels like the Capitol and everyone else owes them something. I'd been a fool for ever thinking that he'd really be any different. The hot water burns my skin as I scrub at the plates. Next I clean up the rest of kitchen, scrubbing the stove and counter tops.

Flowers from several of the bouquets I received after Dimitri gave me a concussion are wilting. In the Capitol, we've managed to outwit almost every single disease, but we can't seem to figure out how to make flowers last more than a few days. Petals have fallen on to the table or on the floor. Having two kittens has also probably contributed to their early demise. I'm surprise nothing has ended up on the floor broken. I start picking through the various vases and throwing out the dead flowers.

"Because District 5 is the district that provides power to all the districts and the Capitol, the stylists Rosetta and Belenen have decided to deviate from power line aspect that most stylists seem to use in the past. They've decided to do 'electricity' itself. So the two tributes are dressed in blue one piece suits that are covered in LED lights," Caesar says.

"Look at those head dresses. Those are also covered in lights. I hear they change colors. Rumor has it that the male tribute, Dimitri had trouble getting all his hair up in his." Zeus chuckles.

"Wonder what he does to get all those curls?" Caesar asks. "I think every woman in the Capitol is envious of his hair."

I nearly drop the dead flowers on the ground at the mention of his name. The camera zooms to Dimitri. His wild red hair sticks out from out an elaborate headdress where thin strands of lights come out all sides in a tentacle-like fashion. He wears an electric blue spandex suit with different color lights that sparkle and change color as the chariots process. He doesn't seem mortified like his partner, but rather amused. Dimitri catches a rose and places it between his teeth and continues to wave at the crowd.

I start laughing at the sheer ridiculous of it. Dimitri seems to take it all in stride. There is a mischievous glint in his eye. Maybe it's a part of his strategy. I shake my head. It's the same glint I saw when we went to the arena the night before the Games started.

The camera pans away from him and they start talking about female tribute whose name is Nyla. I turn my attention back to my work. I sweep, dust, and vacuum the living room, dining room and my room. The more I clean, the less angry and emotionally cluttered I feel. I wipe my forehead with my forearm as I stand back and admire my handiwork. "I'm going to take a break."

Just as I make my way into the living room. The interviews start for the District 4 male tribute. They talk about strategies and home.

Nyla comes upon the stage. She wears a simple spring green dress that offset her green eyes. Her stylist has chosen make her look innocent and not a threat. From the look of fear in her eyes, I know she will not be one. Fear manifests itself in her features, and expressions are wide-eyed. If you move too fast, she'll flee. She answers questions softly, so softly that I have turn up the volume and she refuses to look at Caesar or the camera. Finally, her three minutes are up and it's Dimitri's turn.

He strides onto the stage wearing a black suit with red edges. He waves to the crowd, and then shakes Caesar's hand. Caesar gestures for him to have a seat.

"So how are you finding the Capitol?"

"Big," He says. "Really big, and everything's so close together."

Caesar glances at the audience and they chuckle. "Oh really?"

"Yeah. Where I come from everything is spread out. In the wind turbine or the solar panel fields, you can see for miles. The fields, they seem to go on forever. And the sky is the brightest blue."

"Sounds lovely," Caesar says

Dimitri points to Caesar whose color of choice this year is bright neon blue. "It's brighter than your tie."

"Was it brighter than your chariot outfit?"

"Last time I checked the sky didn't sparkle like that. It also doesn't wear a funny hat that looks like some sort of sea creature. What are they called, octopuses or jellyfish? They have lots of tenticles." He grins at the camera, clearly enjoying the spotlight.

"So are you telling me you felt like an octopus last night? If I were your stylist, I'd be insulted."

The crowd roars with laughter and the camera pans to his stylist who is looks slightly mortified about Dimitri's feeling about his costume.

"Jellyfish," Dimitri corrects. "They sting you if the touch you."

"Moving on to a more serious subject, what's your plan of attack in the arena?"

Dimitri frowns and then rubs his chin. "That's a good question and a very difficult one to answer."

"They probably won't have jellyfish in the arena."

This garners a chuckle from an audience.

"I don't know." Dimitri folds his hands. "That's a touch call because we all have different strengths and weaknesses. It's all a matter of figuring those out in time."

"What's your strategy?"

Dimitri looks directly at the camera. The laughter is gone from his face and his eyes are cool and focused. "Stay alive."

Dimitri's time is up and the music plays. He bows and exits the stage. As the female tribute is introduced, my phone rings.

"Hello darling, did you call me?" It's my grandmother.

"Yes, I wanted to check on you since your last tribute died this morning."

She sighs heavily. Death never gets easier, and I'm sure the weight of her death and that of many weigh heavily on her shoulders. "I'm doing well as expected. How are you holding up?"

"It's been hard," I admit. "Graham and I broke up yesterday."

"Can't say that I didn't see it coming."

"Yeah, well."

Nothing is surprise anymore. That's what happens when you work in the Capitol, nothing is certain.

"I'm on my way to District 8 to meet with the families of both tributes. Normally, this doesn't happen until the end of the Games, but they died so early so what's the point of waiting?"

"Good luck." I say, hanging up. I watch the silent movement of the District 6 female tribute.

"How can Caesar do this every year?" I say allowed.

"He has no soul." A voice answers from my doorway. "Plastic surgery will do that to you."

"Haven't you heard of knocking?" I say. I click off the television quickly. Dimitri seems to pay no attention.

"You didn't." He opens the door of my refrigerator and rummages through it, pulling out things to make a sandwich. "You invade my privacy, I'll invade yours."

"Good to know you're feeling well enough to raid my refrigerator."

"You took my knives, I'm taking your food. It's a fair trade. I would take your piano, but it's too big. It doesn't fit through the door. I suppose I could push it through the window." He slathers a large amount of mustard on a slice of bread.

"I'd kill you."

"You're weak to kill."

"You don't know that." I draw myself up tall. "Are you saying that you don't think I can do my job?"

"If you had a choice between confrontation and running away, you'd get the hell out of there. I saw it in your eyes yesterday." Dimitri meticulously piles meat and all the other sandwich fixings on the bread. "By the way, Crane wants you in the control room tomorrow at seven-thirty."

"Why?"

He smirks. "May the odds be ever in your favor. Thanks for the sandwich."

"Are you coming with me?"

"You're a big girl."

"You're a creep," I mutter.

A/n: Sorry for the long wait and short chapter. I have suddenly developed a social life.


	24. Chapter 24

**I do not own the Hunger Games, I only own this story's plot and original characters.**

**Chapter 24**

The next morning is rainy and cold. Strange weather for a city that's weather is controlled by humans. The control center is only a few blocks away in a nondescript building that blends into the buildings surrounding President Snow's mansion. It takes me only fifteen minutes to get there on foot. I shoulder my purse and walk quickly with an umbrella in one hand and a thermos filled with hot tea in the other.

Not many people are out and about going to work. Many people in the Capitol work from home. Office attendance will be very slim until their favorite tributes die and then it'll be business as usual. Outside of the control center, there are several Peacekeepers holding guns. I show them my badge and they let me enter.

After a few more security checks, I am ushered into a room where several of the Gamemakers, including Plutarch and Elmo are staring over consoles. A three dimensional model of the arena is in the middle of the room. Little tags show where the tributes are on the 3D model. The door rushes open and I am hit by a strong smell of roses.

"Good morning," Seneca gestures to an empty seat next to Plutarch.

Snow nods from behind him. His beard is neatly trimmed and a fresh rose is pinned to his lapel. "Good morning, Gamemaker Carmen."

The emphasis on the title 'Gamemaker' sends a chill up my spine. I smile nervously and look down at the console. Katniss Everdeen's vitals and stats blink at me as well as her position in the arena. She is the furthest from the Cornucopia and all of the other tributes.

"How does if feel to finally be in a position of power?" President Snow asks.

I sit up straight and adjust my skirt. I'm not sure what to say. "I love it" is a complete lie. "It's what I've always wanted," makes the title seem like it was only a birthday gift or a dream come true. This is my worst nightmare and President Snow knows by my chosen profession of a concert pianist that I am no cut-throat killer. There's another reason.

I force a grin on my face and tell a bold faced lie. "I love it."

"Just like your mother, you are." He says. His mouth smiles but his eyes do not. There is a hardness in his eyes that makes my blood run cold.

"Am I?" I decide to play coy and allow a playful smile on face. That's a comparison that I don't want. I am not a cold-hearted killer like my mother. I am nothing like her.

"Prove it."

"Sir, Katniss is out of range of the other tributes," One of the other Gamemakers I don't recognize says. I look down at me screen and sure enough, she is at least five miles from the nearest tribute.

"Well, we need to find a way to herd her back," Seneca says. "Luckily for us she is walking in a booby trapped area.

"Gamemaker Carmen, will you please do the honors?" President Snow says calmly.

I looked down at the control panel uneasily. Everyone stares at me. Sweat trickles down the back of my neck. To the right of her stats, there are several buttons that will trigger the traps. I look up at President Snow. He is watching me with cruel glint in his eyes.

"The button is on your left," Plutarch says softly.

I look down at the console. There are three different options: Gas, trackerjackers and fire.

A shadow casts over my consol. "I'd pick the fire, if I were you." Snow says. "We wouldn't want to scar the Girl on Fire's face now would we? It would upset the people, and we can't have a rebellion, can we?"

"No, I suppose not," I mumble.

"Fire is enough to strike… fear into a person. I feel like you would know that wouldn't you?"

I pull my eyes from the consol. My blood runs cold as I suddenly get the impression that my sister's death was no accident. The warehouse that had caught on fire was my uncle's. It wouldn't have been the first time my uncle had disobeyed the law by sending blankets to other districts without the Capitol's knowledge. Everyone's eyes are focused on me. I can't read their expressions.

"She protected her sister from being sent into the arena. What did you do?" He takes my finger and puts it onto the button. His hands are cold as ice. As death. I wince has he slams my hand on the button. "We must act quickly!"

From the display in the center of the room, there is a wave of fire that begins and grows steadily towards Katniss and my direction. Animals flee and Katniss tries to clumsily escape but the roots and random rocks placed by the considerate Gamemakers make it difficult.

I want to flee too. Even though there is no smoke, the smell of it chokes me and I gag. I can't breathe. President Snow holds my hand down. The Gamemakers are also given the experience of being in the arena. Several of the Gamemakers cough and cover their mouths.

I stumble out of my seat and onto the cold tile floor where I scramble desperately to try to find fresh air. I can hear Katniss and several other tributes scream as the wave of fire come towards them. I clamp my hands over my ears to block out the screams. The screams are not the tributes any more; it's the trapped children in the stifling hot warehouse with large pieces of machinery.

"Look at that bitch run," President Snow exclaims. He still crushes my hand in a vicelike grip. Several of the Gamemakers whoop loudly. They forget about me.

Burnt flesh fills the room. Katniss's jacket is burning and she limps as she runs clutching her leg which was scored by a fireball. Suddenly, she is not Katniss. She is my sister.

"This is my entire fault," I whisper. I try to stand, but my legs give out "I have to go."

President Snow blocks my way. I look up his snow white pant leg and he is sneering back at me I stand up only to be grabbed by President Snow. "You don't think I know what you're planning?" He hisses in my ear. "Take this as your notice to cease and desist."

"I don't know what you're…"

He jerks me sharply. "You can tell him the only reason we didn't cut out his tongue is that he's a victor, and you can tell your father next time you talk to him tell him that we had an agreement and he better honor that agreement if he knows what's good for him." He shoves me away roughly.

I gag and retch my meager breakfast all over the nearest Peacekeeper's shoes.

He says something to the Peacekeepers but I can hear him over the loud roar that consumes my hearing. A Peacekeeper helps me to my feet.

"I have to go," I murmur. "I have to go."

I wrench myself out of his grasp, grab my purse, and flee down the hall away from them. As I run, my ankle gives out from underneath me and I go crashing into the hard floor. Damn these high heels. Peacekeepers start to chase after me.

"Let her go," President Snow says. "She doesn't have the palette for death."

I pick myself off the floor and shuck off my heels, My pantyhose cause me to slip and slide on the tile floor. Avoxes move out of my way as I run. Clutching my heels I push the heavy doors open to the outside. It's raining heavily and several members of the Capitol parade around in their chic umbrellas.

I run and it feels like my lungs are about to burst, but I don't dare stop. Dimitri's warning runs through my head. _You have no idea what you're getting into._ If he knew then why did he give the number? Tears run down my face as I hurry in the cold, wet drizzle. My breath comes out in gasps. Several people stop to stare at me but none of them ask me if I'm okay. My pantyhose cause me to slip and slide on the pavement. Even though the rain I can smell smoke and burnt flesh. It is a scent that has imprinted itself on my memory. Even though it is raining, I feel like if I don't run fast enough the wave of fire will catch me and it's tagalong fireballs will hit me.

What if Dimitri set me up?

I crash into someone. He shoves me roughly. "Watch where you're going bitch." I keep running. I can't go back to the apartment. I've lost all sense of direction and am running blindly. People are staring. I feel stained by the fire that has tried to engulf me. I sit down on a bench and try to catch my breath. I can still remember my sister's screams.

Somehow I've made it into the public square where they are showing the games on large screens in 3D. The Games are being broadcast in large screens in the square. The wave of fire is only beginning its path towards me. A new fear springs me on and I sprint towards back to the apartment. I scream and start running again. This alerts a few Peacekeepers and they chase me but only for a short distance then they lose interest. Life in the Capitol has made them fat and slow.

I look back at them and then trip and stumble in to a potted plant. A cactus. The needles stab my skin and bring me back to reality. I don't know where I am. I am in the downtown of the Capitol, but I can't seem to find my way back to the Gamemaker's Headquarters. It feels like I've been running for hours when I find my way back to my apartment.

I struggle though the heavy doors and everybody in the foyer stares at me as burst in. I drip all over the tile floor. Many people look down at me. This strikes a new panic in me. They know what I've done. They know it's my fault that I set Katniss Everdeen on fire. They know it's my fault my sister is dead. The elevator would take too long so I take the flights of stairs.

After several flights of stairs, my legs are throbbing and so is my ankle. I lean against the wall to try to catch my breath and calm my pounding heart. I hear voices and the pound of feet as they ascend a the stairs. Peacekeepers. President Snow.

The new burst of energy allows me to run up a few more flights of stairs. By the time reach the twelfth floor, I can hardly stand on my left ankle. I scan my key card to let me in on the nearest floor. It doesn't open. I try again, it still doesn't open. My fingers shake as I attempt to open the door. My key card refuses to work.

"Why won't you open?" I cry. I shake the door trying to dislodge the lock. I try to scan my card again, but the lock doesn't click open.

There are more feet on the stairs. I can smell fire. Fear courses through my veins. I shake the door harder. Why won't my key work? I wonder. Suddenly the door opens and a man wearing a rumpled suit and drinking a cocktail. Someone is coming down the stairs. I bolt through the cracked opening, crashing into him and spilling his drink down the both of us.

"What the hell?" he cries. His breath reeks of booze and eggs.

My stomach sinks. I'm standing right in front of Haymitch Abernathy, the mentor of the tribute that I am responsible for attempting to set on fire. Despite all of the alcohol that he has consumed probably in the last week, his eyes are still bright and clear. If I were to put a match to his breath, he would be consumed by it.

"I'm sorry," I say. Tears run down my face. "He made me do it. I'm so sorry."

I can taste vomit in my mouth. I can smell charred skin. The image of the fireball hitting Katniss's leg is burned into my mind. I feel dizzy and hot. Blood roars in my ears.

Haymitch grips my shoulders. "Now wait just a second. Who made you do what?"

"I didn't mean to hurt Katniss. I didn't mean to honest. They set me up." I grip the lapels of his jacket. "President Snow made me do it."

"Made you do what, sweetheart?"

"He made me push the button. The button for the fire."

"You're not supposed to be here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave," The woman's voice is firm. Her hands grip my arms like claws and she tries to pull me away from Haymitch.

"Let her go, Effie. It's okay." He loosens her grip on her arm. "I know her. She's Dimitri's girl."

"But…"

"Just pour the dear girl a drink." He gives me a once over.

"They're going to kill me." I plead. "President Snow knows what I've done. I've got to hide."

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Haymitch asks. The expression on his face changes into curiosity. "Calm down, sweetheart. You're safe here, no one gives a flying fuck about District 12."

I try to break out of his grasp and bolt. All I want to do is hide and get away the smell of death that permeates me. Oh god, what if I killed someone? There's a scream, Katniss's scream. I tear out of Haymitch's grasp and try to run into the nearest room. Effie grabs my shirt and yells at me.

"It's my fault." I cry. "It's my fault she's injured."

"You aren't authorized to be here."

Haymitch attempts to get in between us and spills the remaining contents on Effie.

The fabric rips loose from my shoulder as I pry her fingers from shirt. I scream as I drag both of us through the doorway. My ankle aches. Haymitch says something that distracts her and allows me to tear out of her grasp and slam the door. She winces as the door closes the door on her hand.

I lean against the door in relief.

"Let her be," Haymitch says calmly. "Something's scared her."

"But she's not…" Effie insists.

"She's Dimitri's mentee, " A male voice said. Not Haymitch.

"Well, that doesn't make it any better," She mutters. "Victors these days."

Panic seizes me again. Now I've put Dimitri in danger as well. The room is dark and smells faintly like pine. The window overlooks the city. The door handle turns and I look around frantically. I shouldn't be afraid of these people but I am. They could easily turn me over to the Peacekeeper. Technically, Effie is right. I shouldn't be here. It's against the rules. Haymitch could easily use this to his advantage. But he still has two tributes alive in the arena. I need to get out of here. I need to talk to my Grandmother. When I lived in District 8, my grandmother and father would talk in hushed voices at the table after Kai and I had gone to bed.

President Snow's image lingered in my mind along with the scent of roses. I've never like the smell of them myself. They always seemed sinister with their beautiful, but deceitful blooms hiding the thorns underneath the deep green leaves. We were never allowed to have roses at home as they were a symbol only President Snow could have. They symbolized fear. Whenever my mother received roses from a male admirer, she always had a stricken look on her face. A date brought them to the house and she promptly threw them out.

I squeeze myself under the bed and move towards the headboard and the wall. Effie's heels click on the floor and she stops in front of the bed.

"She's gone," She exclaims.

Haymitch snorts. "That's impossible. She's probably hiding."

"We have to get her out of here," Effie says quickly. "The Capitol could penalize us if they find her here and we'll lose all the hard work Katniss and Peeta have done so far. It could be a trap. I heard this happened to District-"

He burps loudly and waves her off. "Nothing will happen to us. I don't think this is the Capitol's doing."

"But the way she was apologizing about the fire…"

"We can use this to our advantage." Haymitch knees crack as he stoops down and looks under the bed. "Here she is," he says cheerfully. His eyes twinkle. At one point, he was a very handsome man, but years of drinking had destroyed that. Now his face had a hard leathery look. "You can come out sweetheart, we aren't going to hurt you."

I scoot back as far as I can against the wall and towards the middle of the bed. I can still smell the smoke and hear the screams as the fire burs them. My own sister's face flashes in front of my eyes as the beams of the building tumble on top of her. I hear her scream. There are more screams and I don't recognize that they are my own. There is burning flesh. Something grabs my leg and I scream and curl into a tight ball. Long fingernails scrape down my leg and I can feel them dig into my flesh. I clench my hands over my ears.

"Don't." Haymitch's voice booms. "You're making it worse. They've done something to her."

"What are we going to do? She can't stay here," Effie says. She sounds exasperated. "If they catch us with her…"

"Is there anyone else we can call?" A male voice asks. "What about Dimitri?"

"We can try," Haymitch says slowly. "Maybe he'll know what's going on. It seems that even the Capitol tortures their Gamemakers."

"No one is unscathed by the Hunger Games," the male voice says again. He sounds sad. "She is the granddaughter of the victor."

"It should be an honor?" Effie's voice has lost its cheer. She is bent at an awkward angle, probably so the floor won't get her dirty. Effie probably has no idea what the term dirty means.

"This could work to our advantage," Haymitch says softly. "Let's leave her alone and try to get in touch with her mentor."

Two sets of feet leave the room, but one remains. A dark skinned man with gold eyeliner peeks under the bed. "You're okay," he says softly. He does not try to grab at me but simply stares. He lies down, and props his head on his arm. "You're safe and sound. No one can hurt you. Can you tell me what happened?" I am shaking so hard to that my teeth are chattering. "Is there anyone we could call? Dimitri? You grandmother?"

"Who are you?" I manage to choke out.

"Cinna. I'm Katniss Everdeen's stylist." He holds up both of his hands. "I come in peace."

"It's my fault." Tears stream down my face. "It's my fault that she's dead."

"Katniss isn't dead, my sweet." He reaches out his hand. "She's alive, a little burnt but not dead. Oh no, she was set on fire but she wasn't consumed by the flames."

I reach out and touch his fingertips. "It's not Katniss, it's my sister."

Cinna's golden accented eyes widen .The door opens again and I quickly snatch it away. Cinna rolls on his back. Haymitch is back and he's got another glass of something.

"Damn Dimitri won't answer his fucking phone."

"Who else can we call?" Effie asks. "I think her Grandmother has already left to do her duty in District 8."

"Who do we know that has experience with trauma?" Cinna says. "This is clearly a case of it."

Haymitch sighs. "You're talking to a victor. All of us know trauma like it's a sibling. Unless..." I see his feet begin to pace in a circle.

He sits down and peers under the bed at me. I curl up tighter into a ball. I just want him to go away. I want the smell of burning flesh to go away. Haymitch slides a glass under the table. "Drink it. It'll calm your nerves."

"Hello, Finnick," Haymitch says gallantly. They exchange pleasantries and complement each other on how well each of the tributes from their respective districts. Ironic because there is only one tribute from District 4 still alive. Usually, it's the other way around. They chat with each other like they are old friends. And perhaps they are, linked by the hellish Games.

"Finnick I need a favor," Haymitch says. "I have a Gamemaker in my quarters... No, no, no, no it's not like that."

He pauses. "Is Annie with you?"

I can hear Finnick's voice faintly over the mobile phone. "Don't drag her into this Haymitch. I am…"

"Don't worry, you're beloved will be safe. Just bring her with you." Haymitch pauses and listens again. "Well, you see I have this very interesting... problem. I have a Gamekeeper hiding underneath a bed."

"YOU KIDNAPPED A GAMEMAKER?" Finnick yells. "This wasn't a part of the plan."

"Well you see, that's where you come in. She's terrified. I can't reach her mentor. Dimitri's not answering his phone."

I don't hear Finnick's response.

"Finnick if anyone could sweet talk a trackerjacker, it would be you."

"I am not putting-"

"Carmen's frightened Finnick," Haymitch repeats. "I have no idea what the hell happened to her except that she pushed a button and something bad happened. She can't stay here and I can't get in touch with Dimitri."

Haymitch paces a few more steps. "Yes, in any other case we would be screwed and our tributes would be blown sky high if we even did... Dimitri's girl. Surely you remember her mother? She's not a hard one to forget." He chuckles.

"Alright, see you in a few minutes."

He stoops underneath the bed and looks at me. "Hold on, sweetheart."

"We should keep trying to get a hold of Dimitri," Cinna says. "I think he'd want to know."

"He hates me," I whisper. "He said he never wanted to talk to me again. This is all my fault."

"He doesn't hate you," Haymitch answers. "We're naturally bitter people and there's nothing you can do about it."

"I hurt him," I sob. "I betrayed him. I stole from him. I only took them because I thought he was going to kill himself."

"What happened in that control room?" Haymitch says. He makes a motion to Cinna and probably Effie too, to leave us.

"I pushed the button." My throat is sore. The words sound so juvenile. I taste soot even though there was none in the control room or here. "The fire. President Snow made me do it. He threatened me. I had no choice. I'm so sorry."

Haymitch tries to reach out to comfort me, but I move away. I am afraid that he'll try to drag me out from under the bed and I don't think I can deal with the judgmental stares from all of them. They'll probably call the Peacekeepers soon. My blatant disobedience to the rules regarding the relationship between the mentors and Gamemakers doesn't matter to me. I never wanted this job anyway. Maybe this was part of President Snow's plan? The adrenaline starts to drain slowly out of my body and it's becoming harder to keep my body ready to flee. I begin to stretch out, but away from Haymitch's grasp. He's still calling Dimitri. He slowly withdraws his hand.

"Take a sip of that drink."

The doorbell rings and he leaves to answer it and I breathe a sigh of relief. A pair of boots enter the room and they fuss around in the drawers and closets. They stop at the bed. It's probably an Avox. I have no reason to fear them. Everything was taken away from them when they committed their crimes that got their tongues cut out. The owner of the boots stoops down and stares at me. Cinna.

"There are fresh clothes on the bed for you to change into," He says kindly.

Basically, when you've decided to stop like a monster. I've put out stuff to make you look human again.

"I've also put out a towel in the shower if you would like to shower off the dust." He continues. "I know you've had a very rough day and it's not even lunchtime yet."

Nothing in his voice indicates that he thinks that I am some sort of monster and that I should clean up my act. When my sister was first killed, I would often go and hide in my bed, back behind all the clothes in my closet. It wasn't a reasonable thing for a sixteen-year old girl to do. I should have been able to shrug it off. Sometimes the screams would haunt my sleep. The doctor gave me drugs to help them go away. In truth, the morphling only made them more vivid and I could smell their flesh burning as the Peacekeepers barricaded the doors to keep members from the District from rescuing their children. I was one of the lucky ones, I guess. It didn't make me feel any better when I saw the families of the lost children walking around at the market or hanging the laundry on their front porches. It was not only fire and screams I ran away from. I was allowed to live because I was Hugo Hyde's daughter. That's the only reason they had let me out before the building collapsed. I want to tell Cinna that, but I can't. Something in me won't let me relive those memories.

He gives me a reassuring smile.

Pull yourself together, its okay. Sometimes when it got really bad I would play the piano for hours until my fingertips bled. I played like a zombie, not knowing how to feel. More than ever, I want to go home so I can escape into that.

Finnick's laugh carries into the bedroom. Soon his face is level with mine. I don't trust him and this makes me scoot closer to the wall. I am shaking as the urge to flee courses through me yet again. He looks like the Peacekeeper that dragged me away from his sister. Then a slender girl stoops down beside him. She has the same blue eyes as he does, but hers I can't read. She smiles a small nervous smile. This is Annie Cresta. She was the only one who survived her Games because she could swim. Rumor has it they tortured her because she loves Finnick.

"Please just leave me alone," I plead. I don't want him touching me. I don't want him near me. Fear begins to clench my chest again. "I want to go home."

"You are perfectly safe," Finnick says calmly. "They can't hurt you here."

"The fire..."

"It's been put out."

The girl shakes her head. "You're safe. I know it doesn't feel like that right now, and you feel like everything is out to get you. I know that feeling." Her voice trails off like she is lost in thought. "You can't let it though. There are good people here."

"I am a Gamemaker," I say. "I make children's lives hell in an arena for entertainment."

The girl cast a nervous look at Finnick. He nods reassuringly.

"You didn't choose it any more than I chose to win my Games," She says. "I saw what they did to you. And I want you to know that you don't need to be afraid of us. You don't need to be afraid of Finnick or Haymitch either."

Finnick winks at me. "We're big softies."

"You know as well as I do that status does nothing for protection," I answer. Annie Cresta was not the same after her Games, and her "duties" as a victor had taken a toll on her mental state.

"It's my fault that there was a fire in the arena." My words are spilling out uncontrollably. "It's my fault that my sister died. Annie gets on her hands and knees and crawls under the bed with me. She grabs my hand. I don't deserve her comfort. I am the daughter of one of the people who made her life a living hell, by drawing her name out of a ball.

"It's okay," She reassures me. I break down and sob. I try to yank my hand out of her grasp, but she is surprisingly strong.

"I don't deserve your pity."

"Yes, you do. You're not like them."

"This wasn't your choice," Finnick adds. "You were set up by the Capitol. We can all see it."

I wonder what they know that I don't.

I let Annie guide me out from underneath the bed. It registers that I am sopping wet, cold and hurt all over.

"But look at it this way," Finnick says, grinning. "You almost set the Girl on Fire literally on fire and she's alive. No one died."

"It doesn't erase the guilt."

Finnick runs a hand through my soaked and dirty hair. "If you feel guilty, you're letting them win. Isn't that what you told Dimitri?"

Haymitch's voice interrupts our conversation. "I was wondering when you were going to pick up your damn phone. You're a hard man to catch. I wanted to know that if you knew that your Carmen tried to literally light the Girl on Fire on fire this morning?"

Dimitri's voice comes over the speakerphone. "So you're calling to complain to me? I only have so much leeway in my instructions as her mentor. It's not that easy. You just tell yours to stay alive."

"Funny you should say that, she's currently hiding under my bed blabbering about a fire killing her sister. Even Finnick's sweet talking isn't helping. You know that he can sweet talk almost anything. You see, sweetheart, this is a problem because if she gets caught here..."

"Are you threatening her?" Dimitri's voice is hard. "Because I will kill you first."

"Not at all. I'm merely stating the facts and I know that you are a very partial to your little...pet."

"I took away his knives and his guns," I blurt out. "He doesn't love me at all."

Haymitch and Finnick chuckle. Even Annie smiles.

"I'm sure you had your reasons," Finnick answers. "It was probably a reasonable reason. Probably a more reasonable reason than Dimitri has to reasonably justify the sheer amount of weapons.

Annie and Finnick carefully pull me out from under the bed. When I reach the edge do I realize how embarrassingly dirty and mussed I look. There is a long run in my hose. Where Effie grabbed my leg, there are five deep scratches that have bled slightly, not to mention the needles from the cactus. If anything, I look like I should be a tribute in the arena. My dress is dirty and torn. My nose is running, my makeup is streaked from crying.

Finnick rubs my shoulder gently. "You really are going to be okay. We're not going to judge you here."

"I'm really scared." Tears run down my face.

Annie smiles sympathetically, but she doesn't hug me. But takes my hand and strokes it. I don't deserve to use the word scared. I have no idea what that means. I've never had to fear for my life, at least in the way that they have or Dimitri.

"So it seems you've had a couple of rough days," Finnick answers. "First the breakup and now this."

A concussion. How can it get any worse?

"How do you know about that?" I ask.

"It's all over the news," Cinna answers. "TDZ. The whole thing with Dimitri is on there too."

"Great," I groan. "I was hoping that the Capitol would have noticed that happened."

"Clearly you haven't had much experience with the Capitol," Haymitch answered. "They love gossip. If it involves the Gamemakers it's even better."

"What sort of rumors are flying about us now?" I think back to the conversation I had with Contessa and her cronies in the bathroom.

"Just the usual ones," Haymitch answers. "They suspect you're sleeping together but that's not really new news."

"We're not," I blush hotly. "Honest."

He waves his hand. "It doesn't matter. It creates more publicity for the Games. We have star-crossed lovers in the arena and now we have lovebird Gamemakers."

"You can't forget the conspiracy theories surrounding the different Gamemakers supporting certain tributes," Finnick adds. "Those are always fun."

"How many have you been linked to so far?" Haymitch raises and eyebrow.

Finnick shrugs. "At least six. It's always the same ones."

"Are they... patrons of yours?"

"Nah, just random people. People think that Johanna and I are dating again." He wraps his arm protectively around Annie.

There is a loud knocking at the door. It's the Peacekeepers! I try to flee and hide under the bed. But I can't. I try to wrench myself from Finnick's grasp, but he holds me firm. Annie says nothing, but pats my hand reassuringly. He whispers something in her ear and she nods. Both of them help me to my feet. My ankle is throbbing and she helps me limp to the bathroom. Before we can enter, the door bursts open.

"For the love of Christ," Haymitch bellows. "Put the damn thing down."

"Where is she?" The stranger bellows. A hammer of a gun cocks. "Tell me where she is or I'll blow your brains out.

Dimitri.

"Jesus, put the gun down. We're all friends here." Haymitch says. "She's in here, but put the gun down first. She's..."

"Carmen!" Dimitri yells. "Carmen!"

"You reek. Were you raised in a barn?" Haymitch gags.

My knees are shaking. "I'm in here." My voice only comes out as a whisper. "Dimitri."

Dimitri tosses his gun on the bed and hurries to the bathroom doorway. He pushes Annie out of the way. She stumbles into the door frame. I throw my arms around his neck. He smells like sweat and is dripping wet. He wears tight spandex shorts and a wife beater. His hair is thrown up in a messy bun.

"What happened?" He asks firmly.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" I ask weakly. Tears run down my face.

"I went out for a run. I left it at home."

"Yet you had a gun," Finnick answers. "You never cease to amaze me."

Dimitri gives him a rude gesture. "I'm always amazing, what are you talking about?"

I bury my head into his shoulder and breathe in his scent. He smells like rain and sweat. His skin is slick from the rain.

"What happened, Carmen?" He whispers.

I don't want to relive the memories of the morning. I am cold. I am wet and I just want him to hold me. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Deep circles are etched under my eyes and my skin is splotchy. My teeth chatter. My mother would be ashamed of me.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

**A/N: **Sorry this has taken so long to be put up. Sometimes real life gets in the way.


	25. Chapter 25

**Pawn**

**A/N: **Sorry this has taken me so long to update. I've been consumed with other projects, getting married, being an adult, and moving**.** I don't own the Hunger Games. However, this story and original characters are mine.

**Chapter 25**

After a shower, I feel slightly more like myself. I am dressed in a forest green tunic and soft brown leggings. I sit on the bed with a towel on my shoulders, letting Annie Cresta brush my hair with a comb. She hums snatches of a tune that I don't recognize.

Dimitri is in the other room, joking and laughing with Finnick and Haymitch. I wonder if it is acceptable for them to mingle considering they're from different Districts. The Hunger Games play at a low volume. Katniss soaks her injured leg in the water. Cinna then comes in with his makeup pallet to make me look acceptable again.

"That color of green complements your complexion nicely." Cinna says. "You and Katniss almost have the same complexion, though you are a bit fairer that she is."

"She probably spent more time in the sun," I answer. "I don't think if we ever met, she'd like me."

Cinna dabs a brush into the foundation. "What makes you say that?"

"She's better than us, and she knows it," I answer. "And if she knew I tried to kill her…"

"Don't let it bother you," Cinna answers. "You're feeling guilty for things that haven't happened yet."

But I did. Snow made me press the button.

I close my eyes in order to hold back the tears. "I don't agree with the Games. I think they're wrong. I think they're horrible and I want them to stop. I hate them for what they've done to my grandmother because there are some days when she's stuck in the Games and I can't reach her. " I bite my lip until I taste blood. Tears trickle down my face and try to undo all of Cinna's work. I tip my head back to stop them from falling down my face.

"We all have those days," Annie says. She hands me a handkerchief to dab at my eyes.

There is a knock on the door. Dimitri stands there with one hand on his hip and the other is holding a glass with ice and some sort of liquor. I resist the urge to run and throw my arms around him. Instead, I stay motionless and allow Cinna to erase any emotion that has crossed my face earlier in the day. In a matter of minutes, all dark circles and paleness are erased.

"You look beautiful," Dimitri says. "You're a world-class stylist, Cinna."

Cinna dips his head in acknowledgement. "I can't claim all of the credit. Annie did her hair."

I reach up and finger the three delicate braids on each side that make up a larger single braid. It's a style from District 4. I remember it being very popular when another tribute from District 4 won a few Games ago.

"We should probably head out," Dimitri says.

"Well, ya'll don't have to go so soon," Haymitch says. "No one's throwing you out."

"We don't want to cause suspicion," Dimitri says. "What's the best way to get out of here unnoticed?"

"This is District 12. No one's going to care if you hang around. Stay awhile, and watch the Games."

"It's against the rules," I say.

"Rules in the Capitol are more like guidelines," Dimitri says "It's only matters when you get caught."

"I've already gotten caught," I confess. "They know I called my dad."

Haymitch and Dimitri exchange uncomfortable look. Effie seems to be confused. "Well, Gamemakers are allowed to be in touch with their families."

"The notorious Hugo Hyde?"

Effie's face turns white underneath her makeup. "We mustn't talk about him. He is an enemy of the Capitol."

Dimitri a firm hand on my shoulder. "We're leaving now."

"But…" Questions are flying in my head. Why is my father notorious?

Haymitch crosses his arms and smirks. "You don't pay much attention to Capitol affairs, do you sweetheart?"

"Haymitch," Dimitri answers through gritted teeth. His hand tightens on my shoulder. "That's enough."

"It's good to see that you're protective of something more than you're gun," Finnick says. He puts his arm around Annie. "Love looks good on you."

Dimitri opens his mouth to retort, but then decides against it. Instead, he scuffs his foot on the carpet and blushes. "Yeah, well… We… we should get going before we overstay our welcome. The ointment for her leg is on me, since my mentee tried to sear your tribute like a steak."

"That won't be necessary," Haymitch says. "Carmen here, was only doing her job. I can't fault her. Katniss just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time." He pats my shoulder. "Take care of yourself."

"Don't press any strange buttons," Finnick adds. "Don't give into peer pressure."

"I think that's advice we can all take," Cinna answers.

"Speaking of peer pressure, something that's interesting I saw it on a bumper sticker. It read "Those who think they are free are the ones that are the most enslaved. It made me think, that most people think they are free even with all the restriction and rules.

"I'm surprised there hasn't been a revolution," Dimitri says. "But let's talk about something else. We all know that this room is probably bugged. And we should get out of here before we overstay our welcome.

Haymitch shrugs. "Like I said, this is District 12. No one really gives a flying fuck."

"You also have to remember she shot an arrow in to the boar's mouth," Dimitri says. "Trust me, they're watching you. Snow has eyes everywhere." His eyes flicker to Effie. She colors under her pale make up.

"It's always the sticklers for the rules," I say. "Those are the ones you can't trust. Someone once told me the rules were more like guidelines."

Dimitri playfully punches my shoulder. "I didn't say that applied to all the rules, at least not all the rules that applied to government. You should follow them."

"The key word being there is 'should,'" Haymitch jokes. "But then again all rules are subjective.

"Your tribute gave my mentee a concussion. You have no right to say anything about rules." Dimitri shakes his hand. "If I remember you broke a few yourself."

"Don't give Carmen any ideas. We need her to stay alive." Finnick gives me a hug. "Let me know if you need anything at all."

"We will," I say. Annie gives me a tentative hug.

"Thank you for doing my hair," I say. "You did a great job. I'll have to see if my stylist can replicate it."

"It looks very good on you," Annie answers. "As for the hair style, it's easy to do. My mother used to do my hair up in it when I was younger." Her eyes well up and she wipes a tear away from her eye. Poor girl, I wonder if her mother is still alive. Many of the Victors didn't have family. Rumor had it, that President Snow killed family members in order to make the Victors behave. It was only a rumor, I didn't believe it. Life in the Districts had a high mortality rate.

"Let's get you home," Dimitri says. He put an arm around me. "You've had a tiring day and it isn't even Lunch time yet."

"My head hurts," I complain. I gingerly touch the bruise on my head.

"It's time to go then and get you some medicine. I have a friend who is a doctor. Maybe, I'll call him and get a second opinion. What's the best way to get out here without being seen."

"I'll show you," Finnick says. "There's a way out the back. Bad news you have to take the stairs. He takes Annie's hand. I'm a bit jealous. I know that by the way he looks at her that he loves her. Love like that doesn't come around so much. It's all about the show, I doubt people love each other. People get their memories erased of the people they've dated. I wanted to ask Annie her secret for stealing Finnick Odair, the most desirable man in the Capitol. I want that kind of love they have. I only have Graham, well, not even that.

"Enh, I need the exercise," Dimitri says. "I didn't quite get my full run.

"We need to move quickly and quietly." Finnick says. "And try to blend in. Dimitri, you might have a hard time with your short shorts."

"At least I'm not as likely to get someone who recognizes me as the most beautiful man in the Capitol. I'm chopped liver compared to you." Dimitri says.

"I'm also not wanted for conspiracy, like Klinger is either."

"What conspiracy?" I asked.

"Yes, tell her about Klinger, your favorite cross dresser and how he's being watched because he said something about starting a revolution."

"Fire is catching," Haymitch says as he closes the door. "Be careful that you don't get burned."

We follow Finnick and Annie down several flights of stairs. My ankle throbs more after each flight. mY head hurts too and so they throb as I walk down many flights of stairs. Dimitri has his arm around me. In the other he holds a bag of my dirty clothes. I'm lucky that Katniss and I are almost the same size. I am wearing one of her training outfits. We go through a door with a large number six on it.

Just right outside is the elevator. I hope we'll be able to use it to save my ankle. I stumble. Dimitri tightens his grip around my shoulders. "We'll get out of this soon.

"Here's where we have to leave you. You'll have to take the elevator down to the first floor and then slip out the door. There are Peacekeepers lined up around the parameter. They shouldn't ask you questions. They too busy trying out who rigged the betting system. All the bets are on Katniss."

"I've been meaning to ask," Dimitri says, "What's your thoughts on Katniss and all the rumble of revolution."

"People revolt any chance they get. Take a look at District 11. The workers went on strike, demanding better wages and more food. They have a harsh winters than we do, that's for sure. Katniss…." He hesitates. "We'll see. Everyone is eating up the romance with her and the other kid."

"Peeta," Annie puts in.

"She represents hope. She's the underdog. She also took her sister's place in the arena. If that's not love then I don't know what is. People like her because she truly looks like a good person. I've been in this business long enough to realize people like tributes that they can relate to. They relate to the things she's done. They can relate to her love to her sister, versus someone in District 2 who has been trained to kill."

"I think the whole love thing is a sham, but I am naturally a pessimistic person."

"So am I. Being a Victor does that," Finnick answers. "That's why you can never take us anywhere."

"But you go out with them, anyway and play nicey-nice and everything is good. To tell you the truth I haven't had an assignation since I got out of jail. I thought the Capitol liked bad boys."

"You were? " I ask. Somehow this doesn't surprise me.

"That's how I got my scars," He points to the jagged scars on corners of his face. "The guard felt like he needed to put a smile on my face."

"What did you do?"

"What I did isn't important, the fact that I am still alive and functioning after being injected with trackerjacker venom several different times. It's not all about what you do or have done to you, it's about staying alive. In the words of the guard says about wanting to put a smile on my face. I'm still smiling, he isn't.

"Where is he?" Annie asks.

"He's dead."

"You killed someone?"

"I've killed several people. I had to if I wanted to stay alive. We've all done it. Welcome to the life of Victor. Though your hands are just as dirty as ours."

Finnick pushes the down button on the elevator. "When you get to the lobby, keep your eyes down and try not to make eye contact with anyone. You would be surprised at all the weirdos in the lobby. There are also paparazzi and reporters, be careful. "

"Doesn't this joint have a back door?"

"Only if you want to draw more attention to yourself by setting off an alarm," Finnick smirks. "There were a few people that did that a few days ago. I think it was a former Victor trying to make a dash for it. Needless to say the got caught."

The doors open to the fourth floor and Finnick and Annie get off. A few floors later the door opens to the lobby. There are people swarming it, I see Grandmother, but I keep my head low and walk quickly towards the exit. Dimitri fades into the crowd. I try to quell the anxiety that feels my being as I pass the paparazzi interviewing a few people. I kept my head down and my eyes on the floor. Someone bumps into me.

It's Graham. The last person I want to see, and he's got a new girlfriend. And it's my former best friend. This is just great, and so the plot thickens.

Shit.

Dmitri is nowhere in sight to protect me. I feel the anxiety growing in the pit of my stomach. The crowds of people make me nervous. Graham turns around, on one arm he has Claudia.

A blond woman holding to his left arm on. My former best friend, Claudia. She wears a neon green dress with feathers

"Funny seeing you here," He sneers. "Where's your scar-faced boyfriend? Did he give you that black eye."

You're going to try to humiliate me in front of your everyone again? I have half a mind to slap him across the face.

"He's not here to help you. Everyone here knows that you're fucking…"

I slap him across the face as hard as I can. My hand stings from the force. I don't even stop. I tear out of there as fast as I can without attracting any attention. Cameras flashes follow me. I wish we had used the door that would have set off an alarm. My heart pounds as I walk quickly out of the building. In normal circumstances, this building is used as a hotel.

Dmitri leans against one of the concrete walls that contain different kinds of flowers. "What took you so long?"

"I ran into Graham." I shiver. The weather is still quite cool and overcast and I had left the building without a coat. It was on the back of the chair in the control room. I hate to admit it, but seeing him with someone new hurt. It gave a finality that our relationship was over. He certainly didn't waste any time finding someone new. I wanted closure, but I wasn't sure how to go about it. I didn't miss him that much, did I?

"I hope you didn't give that little shit the time of day?" He wraps his arm around me. "Let's get you home. You've had a horrible day and it's not even noon yet."

"Actually, I slapped him across the face."

"Yeah? How did that feel?"

"Pretty good. My hand still stings. He's got a new girlfriend, and I know he treats people like shit."

"He is no longer your problem." Dimitri says. "You can't go around saving others. I learned that in the arena. Your biggest concern now is worrying and saving yourself. If that girl has any sense of self-worth, she will learn rather quickly that he is bad news bears and she'll leave him. As much as you want to dictate someone's else free will, you can't. I guess it's the same in the arena. Your advice can only go so far. Once they are in arena, any influence you had is gone." He squeezes my shoulder. "But changing the subject, I love rain. Something about it makes me feel alive."

I don't know what makes me feel alive. After today, I feel slightly dead.

I certainly need a lot of help in that department.

**A/N: Please review**


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